Oh where oh where has my little boy gone?

Oh where oh where could he be?
With his happiness lost I sing this song,
Oh where oh where could he be?

Stryder Gene, the smiliest baby I've ever, ever known. Everywhere we go, people take note. They mention that smiley, happy boy. Well, they used to. That was before. Before the time we affectionately refer to as the "change" in Stryder. BCS. We can now sit back and reminisce. We think back to BCS, and recall the fond memories of good times with our happy boy. We remember putting him in his carseat, noticabely absent the arched back and scream that now accompanies our every buckle-up experience, which makes safe travel an ambitious goal. The days before we had to completely strong-arm him to change his clothes. The time when we would set him in his crib, rub his head and wisper gently, "goodnight," then walk out of the room, minus his ear piercing shrieks and angry jumping. Way back when I used to be able to put him in his high chair to eat, free of the feeling that I was terribly abusing him in some way by offering him nourishment, because no one gets that upset about sitting down for food. BCS, back when I didn't fear daily for the loss of my teeth due to thrashing movements in fits of rage by a little blond head. Oh where oh where can he be? There are still glimpses. A glimmer of hope, when our happy boy emerges, for a while, sometimes a long while....in those times I breathe a sigh of relief and cherish the moments. Stryder, you must remember those fun days. I want you to know I love you and I understand this is temporary. You're just asserting your new-found will. When you're ready to come back, I'll be waiting, with open arms. Until then, I must stand guard, prepared to correct you, wearing a boxer's mouthpiece to protect my pearly whites.