Jacob Marie.

That's his official title when he doesn't care enough to really sell a good fit. We've known this little dude for what feels like only a month or two, but since meeting him he's taught us plenty.
Now I'm about to make one of those statements. We've all known some crazy woman who claims that her infant woke up one morning reciting the Desiderata in Danish, or whose toddler has now expertly filed the family's taxes for two years running. So here's to my initiation into the Psycho Maternal Self Delusion Society. You ready?
With my mortal life as collateral, I affirm to you all- in perfect sobriety- that Jacob pitched his first fake tantrum when he was exactly three and a half days old. We hadn't yet left the hospital. Being a seasoned mom by this point, you can be sure that I recognized the episode for exactly what it was. The kid had spent over 72 hours gathering intelligence on the fussy creature who dispensed his food. Apparently that's all the time he required to familiarize himself with the ins and outs of human (or at least baby-) interaction. (Before I go on, it should be noted that Jake was not my first child. Or my second. I was a C-section vet by this time and I was tired; thus, when the baby was sleeping, I put him down.) So the exchange was clear and predictable: crying=holding. Baby cries, Mama picks him up and talks all sweetly till he stops. Baby cries, Mama picks him up and talks all sweetly till he stops. Baby cries... Astonishingly he detected a pattern in the cycle. I remember specifically, sitting on the Stone Aged, fluid-proof Postpartum mattress with Jakey's luxurious plastic bassinet beside me when I heard it: the ceremonial First Fake Cry. For a second I actually doubted my own veteran-mom judgment, but no, there it was- true as the color in my hair. I laughed aloud and reached in to pick him up and test my findings. Jake was six inches off the sheet when he clamped his mouth shut again. Immediately I set him back down, and- yep, there it was again. Whhhhaaaaaaaaaaa! It was then that I knew it, and I might have cried a bit myself. We had a professional on our hands.
Over a year has since gone by and my premonition has proven flawlessly accurate again and again. And BOY were we ill-prepared. In fact Matt and I still lack the competency to adequately manage affairs with Toot aboard. (Did you know that? We call him Toot. Guess why.) He's opinionated- (strange...). He's charismatic. He's resourceful. He's vegetarian. (Just kidding.) He is giving us a run for our money- a run for most things, actually. (Seems like we cruise through life these days at a dead sprint.)
The boy's an evil genius when it comes to picking on his brothers. At any moment he's got a three-tiered plan to manipulate his way to what he wants next. The main trouble for us, you see, is that throughout his various ploys and tactics, the boy is irresistibly enchanting. Perhaps the fiercest weapon in his arsenal is a startlingly dashing smile, which he doesn't hesitate to flash as necessary. Instantly it stuns his pray, rendering futile any resistance to which said victim was clinging. In an almost grotesquely ironic twist, the Target is most often left in a daze- and more infatuated with this mystical creature than before the incident occurred. Merciless. Diabolical. Magnificent.
Luckily, Jacob is generally a benevolent dictator. He does seem to prefer smiles and laughter over, say, the mindless slaughter of his opposition. If he can win an encounter without things getting ugly, (and if he's recently had a nap) he will more often than not choose that course. For this we thank Divine Providence. After all, reality has taught us that despite our (unremarkable at best) efforts, it's true. In our house oftentimes, Toot is king. Or at least he likes to think so. Check back as the tournament continues. In times of old I've been known to play a good game, myself. Maybe if I can get a nap in, or something...