So, last night.
The wife returned from a mommy outing to an area wine bar and was relating to me the day's anecdotes, like he was sitting on the couch watching a show and she asked if she could sit next to him and he said "NO. You sit over there." pointing to the other couch. And he was on the bed reading a book and she tried to give him a squeeze, which he shrugged off, demanding "LEAVE ME ALONE!"
Which is how it goes with Fuss.
You have an idea of your child, before you have your child, and of course they're all super cuddly and loving and pliable, a human version of one of those cats that would stay on your lap even if the house caught fire, purring and demanding ear scratchings even as you carried it out the door. Statistically, some people must get children like this.
So, having heard what a standoffish poop he'd been all day I retired to bed, intent on finishing up the last few pages of that Rhuelman book on chefs before passing out. I'm lying there reading, and Fuss starts flopping around like he sometimes does. He was about to roll off the bed and I reached over and dragged him back to the middle, which roused him a little. He sat up, hair tousled and eyes bleary, casting his gaze around the room. He saw me lying there with my book and his face lit up with a gigantic smile. He leaned over and fell on my chest, delivering the kind of all-out hug you hardly ever get from him. Then he rolled away, gathering his buenie around his shoulders, snuggled back down into his pillow and fell back asleep, smiling.