It's too bad my son wasn't born in Germany 2,000 years ago. Watching him run through a wedding reception, screeching gibberish at the top of his lungs, all I could think was, "He would have been a wonderful Berserker."
Is it wrong that I just loaded Khan's high chair tray with Jell-O so I could have five minutes to look at Facebook?
I saw my brother's girlfriend give their 1-year-old son SODA. Bad for the teeth, and also that much concentrated sugar would turn Khan into a Looney Tunes Tasmanian Devil.
Speaking of Looney Tunes, I put a bunch on our Netflix instant stream. I want Khan to see cartoons that don't teach some moral or educational lesson. Mindless violence, stupid jokes and no preaching. REAL cartoons.
I've lost ten pounds in 2 months. My secret? I have a 15-month-old boy.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
A Severe Case of the Curlies
Khan was born with straight, dark hair. But as the months passed, his dark hair fell out, leaving behind soft blondish-brown hair. Then, at nine months or so, Khan suddenly contracted an extreme case of Curly Head.
It's like he woke up one day and his head was covered with soft, blonde Slinkys, corkscrew-porcelain doll curls. It's uncombable, so I don't even try. And it's long, falling over his ears and collar. It's almost foppish in its luxuriance. It's also a pain in the butt. I'm constantly pushing it out of his eyes, have to wash it almost every day, and Heaven help us if a handful of oatmeal finds its way into the mop. And dirt...and leaves. Not to mention the confusion it causes: at least three times a week, someone mistakes Khan for a girl. I don't like gender stereotypes, but it always seems to happen when he's wearing camo pants and a shirt with something terribly masculine on it, like a bulldog or Spider-man, or when he's oohing and ahhing over some big trucks, or throwing a ball. It has to be the hair.
But it's worth it, all the washing and brushing it away and the gender mistakes. Because it's hella cute, and it makes him stand out. Some people say curly hair is a waste on a boy. I don't think so. They're just jealous their girls have straight hair. Even better, his curls have given us the idea for the most geek-tastic family Halloween costumes ever: Tiny Tom Baker will be the 4th Doctor from Doctor Who, I will break out the vintage clothes for Sarah Jane (good thing I just got my straight hair cut), and The Scientist will grow a goatee for the Master. None of the other parents will get it, but people on the Internet will. Geeks.
In a few years he'll probably hate it and want a mohawk or to shave his head. Whatever, it's his hair. But until then I will bask in the reflected attention, and spend long minutes picking leaves out of it.
It's like he woke up one day and his head was covered with soft, blonde Slinkys, corkscrew-porcelain doll curls. It's uncombable, so I don't even try. And it's long, falling over his ears and collar. It's almost foppish in its luxuriance. It's also a pain in the butt. I'm constantly pushing it out of his eyes, have to wash it almost every day, and Heaven help us if a handful of oatmeal finds its way into the mop. And dirt...and leaves. Not to mention the confusion it causes: at least three times a week, someone mistakes Khan for a girl. I don't like gender stereotypes, but it always seems to happen when he's wearing camo pants and a shirt with something terribly masculine on it, like a bulldog or Spider-man, or when he's oohing and ahhing over some big trucks, or throwing a ball. It has to be the hair.
But it's worth it, all the washing and brushing it away and the gender mistakes. Because it's hella cute, and it makes him stand out. Some people say curly hair is a waste on a boy. I don't think so. They're just jealous their girls have straight hair. Even better, his curls have given us the idea for the most geek-tastic family Halloween costumes ever: Tiny Tom Baker will be the 4th Doctor from Doctor Who, I will break out the vintage clothes for Sarah Jane (good thing I just got my straight hair cut), and The Scientist will grow a goatee for the Master. None of the other parents will get it, but people on the Internet will. Geeks.
In a few years he'll probably hate it and want a mohawk or to shave his head. Whatever, it's his hair. But until then I will bask in the reflected attention, and spend long minutes picking leaves out of it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)