Milo peeked into my bedroom this morning and climbed into my bed, and unusual move for him. Thankfully his nature called a few seconds later and I had a chance to scuttle out to my closet and get some proper clothes on before diving back into bed, ready for his return from the potty.
“Why are you snuggling into my bed this morning, Mr. Milo?” I asked, as I ran my hand over his cropped hair.
“Staying away from mean Daddy,” he pouted.
Milo and Jeremiah have had just about enough of sharing the same space, and tolerances have been fraying for the last few days. Oddly, the more Milo fights with Jeremiah, the more cooperative he is towards me. Go figure. I guess he figures he needs one parental ally, and can’t bite both hands that feed him, at least simultaneously.
“Cooperative” is all relative when it comes to Milo, but this afternoon he didn’t even put up a fuss when I announced that I was abandoning the garden (and along with it the territorial squawking of the kids), and we were all going to troop around the quarry. AND that we were biking there, not driving.