I can't do it

Scenario 1: His pants are around is ankles and despite the fact that he’s pulled them up hundreds of times before, Zachary says, “I can’t do it.” “Try,” I tell him. He lightly grabs his pants and let’s go quickly. “I can’t do it.” It’s very obvious that he takes the job of being the baby quite seriously.

Scenario 2: He’s walking across the parking lot. His pants are up, but, oops! He trips and lands on his hands and knees. Despite the fact that he’s not hurt and has easily gotten up from these kinds of spills, he decides, “I can’t do it.” His arms and legs fly out from under him and now he’s laying on his belly. He looks like a turtle who can’t reach the ground. I tell him, “Get up, man.” He puts his hands on the ground, starting his attempt to get up. He quickly throws them out again, clearly demonstrating that he is unable to get up on his own. It’s very obvious that he takes the job of being the baby quite seriously.

He can’t walk. He can’t turn the light on in the bathroom. He can’t feed himself. He can’t get up into his char at the table. He can’t take is clothes off for bed. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.

It’s a good thing he’s cute, or I’d decide I can’t put up with him anymore.

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