The Clingy Crab

It’s official, I’m calling Matthew the clingy crab.

Which is what he has become lately, always demanding to be carried. By me. And refusing to let go. Okay, some of you may have already started correcting me for using a biologically incorrect term.

First of all, a boy with 2 strong gripping legs can hardly qualify for a crab. Secondly, correct me if I am wrong for I have left my books so long ago, crabs don’t cling, do they?

Anyway, I’m off-limits to everybody except himself. Nope, Daddy you cannot hold Mummy’s hands. Nope, PoPo you cannot help give Mummy a massage. Nope, Mummy you cannot give PoPo a massage either. Hands off everyone! Mummy belongs to me and me alone.

Well, granted he hasn’t learnt to articulate in sentences yet. All he does is shake his hands and head violently, make unintelligible words and pretend to cry. If he’s close enough, he will also push the offending adult away with all his toddler-strength.

Gosh… is this a primitive instinct or what? How does he know? I think I have to start drumming the value of sharing into him on a daily basis now…


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