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I was annoyed the first time Hamlet attacked loved on me. "Hamlet!" I barked, then stopped. He clearly didn't know he'd surprised and hurt me. What if it was just love? After all, it wasn't unlike the father-son roughhousing that took place nightly.

The next time he jumped on me, I took it like a man. "Oogh!" I groaned. He laughed and used my bent knee for a toehold. Never mind that I was five months pregnant and trying to put my shoes on. He'd decided it was time for lovies.

Boy love took a hiatus in the first few months after Boris was born. Then, Hamlet wanted snuggles. I reveled in those moments. He has never been a snuggler; even as a co-sleeping child, he needs his own space. So when he started asking to be held and even worn, I gladly obliged him.

But the novelty is wearing off, and Boy Love is back. Boy Love sneaks up to tickle my feet while I brush my teeth; it sprays me with the garden hose while Hamlet helps water my flowers. As I write this, he's spinning his baby brother around in his jumper, trying to make him dizzy. Boris is screeching with delight; so is Hamlet. I have to laugh too, at least in between my "Be gentle" remonstrations. Because it seems that even at the tender age of five months, Boris has an innate understanding of the Boy Love code. How can I put a damper on that?