It appears that in order for Fraser to roll over two criteria must be met simultaneously (as well as the planets being in align and Fraser just being in the mood). First, Fraser must only be wearing a diaper or, better yet, nothing. Second, I must not be watching him. Oh yes. Never mind the 45 minutes I spend on the floor with him, shaking his toys, squeaking his toys, and providing voices for his toys (which are hilarious, by the way, even if he doesn't appreciate my talent) trying to get him to look up just the right way so he will flop over. No. He has to wait until I give up, wonder how many Presidents never rolled over as babies, and go to get coffee to make myself feel better. And yet when I get back there he is, rolled onto his back, looking like he really really enjoys screwing with my head.

And of course this means that when people now ask me if he has rolled over I just sort of stare at them stupidly and shrug. I mean, I think he has rolled over. He is on his stomach when I leave and his back when I return so something has happened in the interim. But I haven't actually seen him do it so, really, for all I know that cats are rolling him over every time I leave the room and laughing into their furry little paws at my dumbfounded expression every time I walk back in. I immediately flip him back onto his stomach at that point, and get down to my shaking, squeaking, voice-over routine, but to no avail. By this point the cats are in freaking hysterics.

So now I am staring suspiciously at both my son and my cats (and wondering if the dogs are somehow in on the plot as well). And, as any good parenting book will tell you, when you start to suspect your children and pets of entering into an elaborate conspiracy against you, it is time to get out of the house. Fraser and I will therefore be having lunch with Andy this afternoon, where Andy will attempt to lure me off the ledge with a little decent food and adult conversation. Unless of course, he is in on the conspiracy as well.....