There comes a time in every boy's life where he makes a great discovery. . . his penis. Our little monkey has made that discovery, at least sort of. He's taken to grabbing it in the bathtub. I don't think he knows what it is, or looks like, he just knows it's something to hold on to. I couldn't be more proud.
My wife couldn't be more grossed out.
So we — or rather she — have decided he needs new bathtub toys. So off to Target we went looking for new bath toys. I wanted the little puffer fish that came with the basketball net so he could chew on them now and makes baskets when he got older. . . my wife wanted the assorted rubber sea life toys.
Home we went, with our assorted sea animals in hand, ready for a fun bath night.
Or so we thought.
The first bath we introduced them too fast and he screamed. This story ultimately is not about that night, it's about the second night. So after a day of family fun we came home and my wife crashed on the couch while I took care of the little monkey. It was turning into bathtime and she was sleeping so soundly I decided to bathe him myself. After a few minutes I introduced the blue whale toy. No squirting, just him and the whale on his terms.
He liked it. He chewed on the parts he could, he examined it, it was a success. So I gave him the sea horse. He liked it at first. . . then I noticed that the sea horse had a bubble coming out of his mouth. I thought "oh he must have water in him, I should get it out." So I squeezed the sea horse and new toy smelling air sot out making a slight hissing noise.
And then it happened. My son got scared and his first instinct was to reach out to me to hold him. Even to the point that he tried to climb out of the tub to reach me. He was scarred and he wanted his daddy to protect him from the scary sea monsters.
As you may or may not know, I work for a Catholic Publishing house. We just released a title call Joseph Elmer Cardinal Ritter: His Life and Times. Cardinal Ritter was a prominent Church figure during the civil rights movement and was responsible for bringing about the desegregation of the Catholic school system. He was a great man. . .
He probably doesn't deserve what I did to him up there.
I did the same to Mother Teresa a couple weeks ago, but didn't save it, I just printed it to hang in my office.
When our son was born, my wife wasn't sure she would be able to nurse. She thought it'd be a little weird, and we'd heard of a lot of moms who weren't able to for various reasons (low supply, small baby mouth, etc.). So we went into it not sure how long it'd last.
Over the past month-and-a-half we've started taking steps to wean our little monkey from the breast. . . he's starting to look at my wife's breasts and lick his lips in a slightly sleazy way. Pumping in her classroom at school has worn her down and we've been using a nipple shield since day one which eliminates the connivence of nursing. So for a month an a half we've been slowly moving him onto formula (he's down to nursing only once a day in the morning, and doesn't seem to care when we drop a feeding).
The reasons for weaning him are not an issue for us. It's our decision and we've made it. I've heard lots of reasons for breast-feeding. It's less expensive, it's better for the baby, it promotes bonding. . . all bullshit! Only one reason should sway moms in favor of breast-feeding. . .
The smell of formula has to be the second worst smell in the world. The first is the smell of formula-fed baby poop. My God it's awful!
I support women whatever way they feed* their baby, but damn. . . I don't think I'd have been able to handle the smell for this long.
*I still will say nursing past one year is a little creepy, and breast-feeding in public is fine, but if you can whip it out in public I'm allowed to ogle.
Even before we had a kid I had always said raising a kid was just a big science experiment. You hypothesize that if the baby is crying you should try something different. . . like not poking him with a stick. Most experiments are created spur of the moment (the physics of baby poo is a good example). Some you plan (like finding the best bedtime).
And some are just for fun.
For the past month, every time I change Mr. Schnicklefritz's diaper (I do most every diaper change at home) I pull the diaper out of the stacker and lightly bop him on the forehead with it. Nothing hard, just enough so he knows I did something. Now, every time I pull out a diaper he flinches.
So we survived the weekend. We got the house in shape, finally picked a menu and the baptism went off without a hitch. Now her side of the family is satisfied that he won't be going to hell (or limbo or wherever those crazy Catholics think they go [you'd think I'd know this working at a Catholic publishing house]). My side of the family is a little less serious about it, but they were happy that we all got together.
An update on the shot front. . . 2 of the 4 shots bruised! We don't like the nurse that did them. She did them last time too. He bled and bruised and it's sad.