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.
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Monday, October 25, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
License to Look Like Crap
One of the great things about parenthood is that you lose all sense of shame.
It begins right away. I mean, a small group of people just saw you push a baby out of your vagina (or, in my case, saw a baby extracted from your abdomen). And since I was breastfeeding, there was also a steady stream of lactation consultants and nurses coming into my hospital room and grabbing my breasts to show me the right way to do it. By the time my six-week postpartum exam rolled around, I was like, "Sure, everyone else has had a peek, go right ahead."
The other thing is that you will do anything, and I mean anything, to make your kid smile (or at least make them stop crying), even in public. Before Khan, I might have belted out Cheap Trick's "The Flame" in the privacy of my driver's seat. Now I will happily sing it in front of anyone, because he likes it (he is only one who likes it- he hasn't been around long enough to be able to differentiate between good and bad singing).
I also sing "Old MacDonald" and "She'll Be Coming 'Round the Mountain" in checkout lanes, and I've done This Little Piggy and Criss, Cross, Applesauce in restaurants. I've come close to exposing myself to everyone at the pool when Khan nearly yanked my bathing suit down.
But who cares? My kid is happy. That's all that matters.
This laissez-faire attitude extends to my appearance. So what if I haven't shaved my legs in a week? Maybe my hair has cottage cheese in it, and my toenail polish is chipped, and there's crusty dried oatmeal on my sleeve. Maybe I still need to lose twenty pounds of baby weight. I have a one year old. What's your excuse? My kid looks cute, and as long as he looks cute no one will be paying attention to me anyway.
I haven't felt this free to act silly in public since I was in high school. And I haven't cared so little about how I look since I was Khan's age. So maybe having strange women squeeze my breasts was worth it.
It begins right away. I mean, a small group of people just saw you push a baby out of your vagina (or, in my case, saw a baby extracted from your abdomen). And since I was breastfeeding, there was also a steady stream of lactation consultants and nurses coming into my hospital room and grabbing my breasts to show me the right way to do it. By the time my six-week postpartum exam rolled around, I was like, "Sure, everyone else has had a peek, go right ahead."
The other thing is that you will do anything, and I mean anything, to make your kid smile (or at least make them stop crying), even in public. Before Khan, I might have belted out Cheap Trick's "The Flame" in the privacy of my driver's seat. Now I will happily sing it in front of anyone, because he likes it (he is only one who likes it- he hasn't been around long enough to be able to differentiate between good and bad singing).
I also sing "Old MacDonald" and "She'll Be Coming 'Round the Mountain" in checkout lanes, and I've done This Little Piggy and Criss, Cross, Applesauce in restaurants. I've come close to exposing myself to everyone at the pool when Khan nearly yanked my bathing suit down.
But who cares? My kid is happy. That's all that matters.
This laissez-faire attitude extends to my appearance. So what if I haven't shaved my legs in a week? Maybe my hair has cottage cheese in it, and my toenail polish is chipped, and there's crusty dried oatmeal on my sleeve. Maybe I still need to lose twenty pounds of baby weight. I have a one year old. What's your excuse? My kid looks cute, and as long as he looks cute no one will be paying attention to me anyway.
I haven't felt this free to act silly in public since I was in high school. And I haven't cared so little about how I look since I was Khan's age. So maybe having strange women squeeze my breasts was worth it.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Water Wars
Khan has a love/hate relationship with water. To be specific, he loves swimming, and hates baths.
I'm not sure what his deal is. Isn't a bath just swimming with bubbles, and really shallow water, and scrubbing...and...um...
The kid is a swimming fiend. At first he was content to sit on my lap on the steps and splash. That lasted all of 4 minutes before he wanted to get out into the deep water. If I hold his hands, he even kicks and flails his arms like he's actually swimming. He cries when we get out. I see Olympic gold and a possible marijuana bust in his future.
But baths...he's always hated baths. He screamed through his first-ever bath at the hospital, his second-ever bath at the hospital, his third-ever bath at home, and every bath since then. It's like water is acid, or dirt is some kind of armor against disease (thanks, dark ages). It was bearable for a while, but now he's no longer a baby, but a little boy. Being a little boy involves being as dirty as humanly possible and having snot on your face 24/7, so he definitely needs a bath.
At a yard sale, my mom found the solution: an inflatable duck bath by a company called Munchkin. Squeeze its inflatable beak, and it makes obnoxious quacking sounds. Blow it up, pop it in the tub, fill it with water, deposit baby in water, and he'll splash happily through hair washing and even bottom-scrubbing. It's amazing. We went to the pond today and I had to restrain him from climbing out of his stroller and over to a group of unsuspecting ducks; I envisioned him trying to climb on the poor birds and squeeze their beaks.
Lately he's started drinking the water, in both pool and bath. I figure, chlorine kills anything, and baby bath soap is sure not toxic, so whatever makes him happy (and gives me a few minutes' peace to sit on the toilet and read a book).
Thanks, Munchkin duck bath!
I'm not sure what his deal is. Isn't a bath just swimming with bubbles, and really shallow water, and scrubbing...and...um...
The kid is a swimming fiend. At first he was content to sit on my lap on the steps and splash. That lasted all of 4 minutes before he wanted to get out into the deep water. If I hold his hands, he even kicks and flails his arms like he's actually swimming. He cries when we get out. I see Olympic gold and a possible marijuana bust in his future.
But baths...he's always hated baths. He screamed through his first-ever bath at the hospital, his second-ever bath at the hospital, his third-ever bath at home, and every bath since then. It's like water is acid, or dirt is some kind of armor against disease (thanks, dark ages). It was bearable for a while, but now he's no longer a baby, but a little boy. Being a little boy involves being as dirty as humanly possible and having snot on your face 24/7, so he definitely needs a bath.
At a yard sale, my mom found the solution: an inflatable duck bath by a company called Munchkin. Squeeze its inflatable beak, and it makes obnoxious quacking sounds. Blow it up, pop it in the tub, fill it with water, deposit baby in water, and he'll splash happily through hair washing and even bottom-scrubbing. It's amazing. We went to the pond today and I had to restrain him from climbing out of his stroller and over to a group of unsuspecting ducks; I envisioned him trying to climb on the poor birds and squeeze their beaks.
Lately he's started drinking the water, in both pool and bath. I figure, chlorine kills anything, and baby bath soap is sure not toxic, so whatever makes him happy (and gives me a few minutes' peace to sit on the toilet and read a book).
Thanks, Munchkin duck bath!
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Creation Myths
We are fully aware that someday, Khan is going to ask where he came from. The Scientist and I plan to prepare a detailed explanation, with charts and graphs and diagrams. We just need help deciding which explanation to prepare for him.
1. Mommy and Daddy decided they wanted a baby. They placed some chew toys and some snacks in the backyard. Then they used a stick to prop a box up over the treats, and tied a string to the stick. After a while you crawled under the box and we trapped you.
2. Mommy and Daddy were in a restaurant when the waiter brought over a baby. Neither if us had ordered a baby; the kitchen must have made a mistake. The waiter said we could have the baby; he wouldn't charge us for it and if we didn't take it they would have to throw it out. We figured, hey- free baby! and brought you home.
3. Mommy and Daddy had the house sprayed for all kinds of pests. But one day Mommy accidentally left some sweet potatoes on the kitchen counter. The spray kept all the other babies out, but you must have had a really strong constitution (and love for sweet potatoes) because you got in and set up shop in the kitchen. You ate all the sweet potatoes. We finally set up some glue traps, and when we caught you, you were just too cute to release into the wild.
So readers- which should we choose?
1. Mommy and Daddy decided they wanted a baby. They placed some chew toys and some snacks in the backyard. Then they used a stick to prop a box up over the treats, and tied a string to the stick. After a while you crawled under the box and we trapped you.
2. Mommy and Daddy were in a restaurant when the waiter brought over a baby. Neither if us had ordered a baby; the kitchen must have made a mistake. The waiter said we could have the baby; he wouldn't charge us for it and if we didn't take it they would have to throw it out. We figured, hey- free baby! and brought you home.
3. Mommy and Daddy had the house sprayed for all kinds of pests. But one day Mommy accidentally left some sweet potatoes on the kitchen counter. The spray kept all the other babies out, but you must have had a really strong constitution (and love for sweet potatoes) because you got in and set up shop in the kitchen. You ate all the sweet potatoes. We finally set up some glue traps, and when we caught you, you were just too cute to release into the wild.
So readers- which should we choose?
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Wal-Mart Baby
My friend calls then White Trash Babies. My husband calls them Wal-Mart Babies. I even composed a song in their honor:
It's Naked Baby Time
It's Naked Baby Time
Time to Be
A Naked Baby
It's Naked Baby Time!
...what? I never said I was Burt Bacharach.
Little babies in nothing but a diaper are probably the happiest babies in the world, whether they're at Wal-Mart or in my backyard. I think Khan agrees with RuPaul's famous quote, "You're born naked, and the rest is drag." (I probably misquoted that...)
Naked babies don't bother me, as long as they're wearing a diaper and the weather is warm. But I always dress Khan when we go out in public. I want to get it into his head that we get dressed when we see other people, BEFORE he learns to undress himself.
But at home, on our own property...I let him roam. All summer it's been 90 degrees or hotter. Perfect Wal-Mart baby weather. Khan naked = Khan happy = Mommy happy.
Ao glory in the naked babies and their exposed fat tummies and soft skin and all their unclothed chub. Love the naked babies. And maybe envy them a little, too.
It's Naked Baby Time
It's Naked Baby Time
Time to Be
A Naked Baby
It's Naked Baby Time!
...what? I never said I was Burt Bacharach.
Little babies in nothing but a diaper are probably the happiest babies in the world, whether they're at Wal-Mart or in my backyard. I think Khan agrees with RuPaul's famous quote, "You're born naked, and the rest is drag." (I probably misquoted that...)
Naked babies don't bother me, as long as they're wearing a diaper and the weather is warm. But I always dress Khan when we go out in public. I want to get it into his head that we get dressed when we see other people, BEFORE he learns to undress himself.
But at home, on our own property...I let him roam. All summer it's been 90 degrees or hotter. Perfect Wal-Mart baby weather. Khan naked = Khan happy = Mommy happy.
Ao glory in the naked babies and their exposed fat tummies and soft skin and all their unclothed chub. Love the naked babies. And maybe envy them a little, too.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Poopie Particulars
Before I became a parent, I used to wonder why everyone who had a baby was totally obsessed with its fecal material. Now that I have a kid, I understand. Poopie is vitally important in monitoring your baby's health (and it provides you with great gross-out stories to embarrass them with when they're teenagers).
I've discovered that what people told me before Khan was born is true: you don't care how disgusting your own child is. And it's a good thing, because they WILL get urine, spit-up, and/or poopie on every available surface in your home. There, now no one will ever want to visit me again.
I breastfed Khan from birth to nine months. There's a lot of advantages to breastfeeding; you pass on immunities, it encourages bonding and (my main reason for doing it), it's free. One of the other great things about breastfeeding is that, as long as your kid is exclusively breastfed, their poopie doesn't smell bad. As The Scientist put it, it kind of smells like 'weird popcorn'(I thought 'buttermilk'). Of course, it's also almost completely liquid and will sometimes leak out of the diaper, but hey, everything's a trade-off.
At four months we had to begin supplementing Khan with formula- don't judge me, he's a big kid and my breasts couldn't take it- and around the same time we started giving him real food. Out with the weird popcorn smell, in with the nasty poopie smell. On the up side, his cloth diapers were easier to clean; solid poopie is simple to scrape off, as opposed to liquid poopie.
Solid food also introduced a whole new range of...colors. Well, really only orange and green (and, once, hot pink, when I caught him gnawing on a chunk of sidewalk chalk). It also introduced constipation. Khan seems prone to it. We keep a supply of prunes on hand for this reason. It's pretty pitiful to see the little grunt and strain until he's red in the face. It's probably also pretty pitiful to see The Scientist and I cheering him on. "You can do it! Push! Out, bad poopies! Out!"
I never thought a smelly, disgusting diaper could make me so very happy.
Everything about your kid is fascinating, even their poopie. And that's totally OK so long as you don't go sharing it with everyone else.
Oh, oops.
I've discovered that what people told me before Khan was born is true: you don't care how disgusting your own child is. And it's a good thing, because they WILL get urine, spit-up, and/or poopie on every available surface in your home. There, now no one will ever want to visit me again.
I breastfed Khan from birth to nine months. There's a lot of advantages to breastfeeding; you pass on immunities, it encourages bonding and (my main reason for doing it), it's free. One of the other great things about breastfeeding is that, as long as your kid is exclusively breastfed, their poopie doesn't smell bad. As The Scientist put it, it kind of smells like 'weird popcorn'(I thought 'buttermilk'). Of course, it's also almost completely liquid and will sometimes leak out of the diaper, but hey, everything's a trade-off.
At four months we had to begin supplementing Khan with formula- don't judge me, he's a big kid and my breasts couldn't take it- and around the same time we started giving him real food. Out with the weird popcorn smell, in with the nasty poopie smell. On the up side, his cloth diapers were easier to clean; solid poopie is simple to scrape off, as opposed to liquid poopie.
Solid food also introduced a whole new range of...colors. Well, really only orange and green (and, once, hot pink, when I caught him gnawing on a chunk of sidewalk chalk). It also introduced constipation. Khan seems prone to it. We keep a supply of prunes on hand for this reason. It's pretty pitiful to see the little grunt and strain until he's red in the face. It's probably also pretty pitiful to see The Scientist and I cheering him on. "You can do it! Push! Out, bad poopies! Out!"
I never thought a smelly, disgusting diaper could make me so very happy.
Everything about your kid is fascinating, even their poopie. And that's totally OK so long as you don't go sharing it with everyone else.
Oh, oops.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Surviving Childhood
I remember the first time Khan fell off the couch (note I said the FIRST time). He was four months old. I'd propped him up next to me while I folded laundry (and maaaaaaaybe I was also watching "Divorce Court"). All I know is I looked up at Judge Lynn Toler for one second and BAM, Khan was on the floor. He cried for about forty seconds; I cried for fifteen minutes. Cue a panicked call to the doctor and a hurried office visit-where Khan was pronounced perfectly fine-and a weeks-long wallow in guilt.
Now, eight months later, every time Khan falls, hits his head, faceplants in the carpet, walks into a wall or pinches his fingers in a door, I pat his head and say distractedly, "There, there. Walk it off."
The more mobile he becomes, the more accident-prone he seems to be. The kid is covered in scratches, bruises and tiny cuts, and I have no idea where most of them came from. My day consists of: crawlcrawlcrawlBAMwaaaaaaaahtheretherewalkitoffwashrinserepeat.
In fact, the other day The Scientist confessed that Khan had fallen and cracked his head on a rocking chair while in The Scientist's care. It was obvious he felt terrible...and I laughed in his face. Since he works all the time and I stay home, Khan is on my watch almost all the time. Feeling bad about the baby getting hurt is just SO eight months ago. I'm not going to let him fling himself down the stairs or anything, but I've learned that lumps and scrapes are par for the course with any baby, especially an adventurous boy with no fear or concept of the laws or physics or gravity. And if all the mothers of boys whom I know are right, I have broken bones and stitches to look forward to.
Eventually he'll learn. Just today he discovered that if you torment Hellbeast long enough, she'll scratch you. Of course, he had to do it approximately seventy times before it sank in, and by tomorrow he'll have forgotten and will have to do it seventy more times, but I'm confident he'll get a clue. Someday.
Hey, Mother Nature knows what she's doing. Babies have soft skulls and heal like Wolverine. You can swaddle them in bubble wrap and feel lousy every time they go bump, but then you'll perpetually feel like crap. Give 'em a kiss and turn 'em loose. It's better for everyone that way.
Now, eight months later, every time Khan falls, hits his head, faceplants in the carpet, walks into a wall or pinches his fingers in a door, I pat his head and say distractedly, "There, there. Walk it off."
The more mobile he becomes, the more accident-prone he seems to be. The kid is covered in scratches, bruises and tiny cuts, and I have no idea where most of them came from. My day consists of: crawlcrawlcrawlBAMwaaaaaaaahtheretherewalkitoffwashrinserepeat.
In fact, the other day The Scientist confessed that Khan had fallen and cracked his head on a rocking chair while in The Scientist's care. It was obvious he felt terrible...and I laughed in his face. Since he works all the time and I stay home, Khan is on my watch almost all the time. Feeling bad about the baby getting hurt is just SO eight months ago. I'm not going to let him fling himself down the stairs or anything, but I've learned that lumps and scrapes are par for the course with any baby, especially an adventurous boy with no fear or concept of the laws or physics or gravity. And if all the mothers of boys whom I know are right, I have broken bones and stitches to look forward to.
Eventually he'll learn. Just today he discovered that if you torment Hellbeast long enough, she'll scratch you. Of course, he had to do it approximately seventy times before it sank in, and by tomorrow he'll have forgotten and will have to do it seventy more times, but I'm confident he'll get a clue. Someday.
Hey, Mother Nature knows what she's doing. Babies have soft skulls and heal like Wolverine. You can swaddle them in bubble wrap and feel lousy every time they go bump, but then you'll perpetually feel like crap. Give 'em a kiss and turn 'em loose. It's better for everyone that way.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Khan has already learned the meaning of "No.". I've said it- sometimes shouted it- pretty much constantly since he achieved mobility. Fingers in a socket: "No." Lamp cord: "No." Dumping out cat's food bowl: "No." Rolling over during diaper change: "No no no no no!".
One magical day, Khan went for the Nintendo Wii. I snapped, "No!"
And...he stopped. He froze, turned, and looked at me.
Then he grinned and lunged for it.
(Wiis are surprisingly hardy despite their small size, if you want to know.)
So he knows what "No." means, he just...chooses not to obey it. It's a start. I guess.
But from the way he giggles when I snatch him away from whatever mortal danger he's approaching, I think we still have a long way to go.
One magical day, Khan went for the Nintendo Wii. I snapped, "No!"
And...he stopped. He froze, turned, and looked at me.
Then he grinned and lunged for it.
(Wiis are surprisingly hardy despite their small size, if you want to know.)
So he knows what "No." means, he just...chooses not to obey it. It's a start. I guess.
But from the way he giggles when I snatch him away from whatever mortal danger he's approaching, I think we still have a long way to go.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Khan vs. Hellbeast: A Story From Two Points of View
HELLBEAST:
Poor Hellbeast. Her life was going pretty well: she had a place to sleep, rent-free, bowls of food and water that magically refilled themselves, and two humans who would pet her or leave her alone, depending on her desires.
Then IT came.
IT was a miniature human with a huge head. IT lacked the ability to give Hellbeast treats or play with her. So she ignored IT. But sometimes, IT was really loud, and for some reason the humans gave all their attention to IT instead of her. Hellbeast occasionally approached IT with a quizzical look, but the humans would shoo her away.
One day, IT began to sit up. The humans seemed excited by this, though Hellbeast didn't think it was all that special. Then, ITS ravenous gaze fell upon her. IT bared ITS teeth, and from ITS mouth issued a horrible squealing noise, high-pitched and full of...glee.
After that, ITS eyes followed her everywhere she went. IT watched her all the time. Sure, it was unsettling, but at least IT was immobile.
Until one day IT wasn't.
Suddenly Hellbeast found herself in a constant race to stay ahead of ITS grasping, yanking hands. She became very familiar with the underside of the human's bed. Worse, IT began to interfere with her stuff. IT played with her toys, threw her food out of the magic bowl, and splashed her water everywhere. IT even tried to dig into her litter box. Hellbeast was living in a nightmare.
And that is where things stand today.
KHAN:
Hey kitty I like you I live you kitty you're cool let me pull your tail just once okay kitty hey let me chew on your ears come on kitty be a sport I love you and you won't feel a thing I promise just for a second kitty come on one second I love you kitty come here to me KITTY KITTY KITTY where are you going kitty? Why are you running away?
We're working on 'be gentle with animals', but until then I'm afraid Hellbeast will remain a creature of the night, venturing out only when IT sleeps.
Poor Hellbeast. Her life was going pretty well: she had a place to sleep, rent-free, bowls of food and water that magically refilled themselves, and two humans who would pet her or leave her alone, depending on her desires.
Then IT came.
IT was a miniature human with a huge head. IT lacked the ability to give Hellbeast treats or play with her. So she ignored IT. But sometimes, IT was really loud, and for some reason the humans gave all their attention to IT instead of her. Hellbeast occasionally approached IT with a quizzical look, but the humans would shoo her away.
One day, IT began to sit up. The humans seemed excited by this, though Hellbeast didn't think it was all that special. Then, ITS ravenous gaze fell upon her. IT bared ITS teeth, and from ITS mouth issued a horrible squealing noise, high-pitched and full of...glee.
After that, ITS eyes followed her everywhere she went. IT watched her all the time. Sure, it was unsettling, but at least IT was immobile.
Until one day IT wasn't.
Suddenly Hellbeast found herself in a constant race to stay ahead of ITS grasping, yanking hands. She became very familiar with the underside of the human's bed. Worse, IT began to interfere with her stuff. IT played with her toys, threw her food out of the magic bowl, and splashed her water everywhere. IT even tried to dig into her litter box. Hellbeast was living in a nightmare.
And that is where things stand today.
KHAN:
Hey kitty I like you I live you kitty you're cool let me pull your tail just once okay kitty hey let me chew on your ears come on kitty be a sport I love you and you won't feel a thing I promise just for a second kitty come on one second I love you kitty come here to me KITTY KITTY KITTY where are you going kitty? Why are you running away?
We're working on 'be gentle with animals', but until then I'm afraid Hellbeast will remain a creature of the night, venturing out only when IT sleeps.
Friday, July 23, 2010
How to Change a Diaper
Sorry I've been MIA; we ended up moving to our new house a week early (because The Scientist's friends were available to help then, and $70 for pizza and beer beats $400 for professional movers any day).
How to Change the Diaper of a 3-Month-Old
1. Lay baby on his back.
2. Take off his pants.
3. Remove soiled diaper.
4. Wipe bottom.
5. Apply diaper rash cream.
6. Put on clean diaper.
7. Put on baby's pants.
How to Change the Diaper of an 11-Month-Old
1. Lay baby on his back.
2. Grab arm of escaping baby, flip him over.
3. Repeat.
4. Remove baby's pants, dodging flailing legs.
5. Begin removing soiled diaper.
6. Grab escaping baby, flip him over.
7. Hand him a toy to distract him.
8. Remove soiled diaper.
9. Dodge toy as baby flings it at your head.
10. Grab escaping baby's ankle, drag him back, flip him over.
11. Wipe bottom, carpet, baby's legs, your hands, baby's hands, toy, and the cat.
12. Pin baby's windmilling arms with one hand and his thrashing legs with your knees.
14. Apply diaper cream.
15. Wipe excess diaper cream on your pants.
16. Begin putting on clean diaper.
17. Grab escaping baby's torso, flip him over.
18. Dodge well-aimed peepee.
19. Put on clean diaper.
20. Release howling, sobbing baby.
21. Consider putting on baby's pants. Decide it is best for everyone if you don't.
How to Change the Diaper of a 3-Month-Old
1. Lay baby on his back.
2. Take off his pants.
3. Remove soiled diaper.
4. Wipe bottom.
5. Apply diaper rash cream.
6. Put on clean diaper.
7. Put on baby's pants.
How to Change the Diaper of an 11-Month-Old
1. Lay baby on his back.
2. Grab arm of escaping baby, flip him over.
3. Repeat.
4. Remove baby's pants, dodging flailing legs.
5. Begin removing soiled diaper.
6. Grab escaping baby, flip him over.
7. Hand him a toy to distract him.
8. Remove soiled diaper.
9. Dodge toy as baby flings it at your head.
10. Grab escaping baby's ankle, drag him back, flip him over.
11. Wipe bottom, carpet, baby's legs, your hands, baby's hands, toy, and the cat.
12. Pin baby's windmilling arms with one hand and his thrashing legs with your knees.
14. Apply diaper cream.
15. Wipe excess diaper cream on your pants.
16. Begin putting on clean diaper.
17. Grab escaping baby's torso, flip him over.
18. Dodge well-aimed peepee.
19. Put on clean diaper.
20. Release howling, sobbing baby.
21. Consider putting on baby's pants. Decide it is best for everyone if you don't.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Babies'R'Gross
By the time Khan was born, we’d amassed enough baby clothes to outfit an army. An army of babies. Which would actually be pretty useless, if you think about it.
I was aghast. It was too much; they didn’t fit in his dresser, or his closet. So many onesies and tiny pants and socks and little hats, all for one baby? Ridiculous.
He’d never wear them all!
What I didn’t count on was the fact that babies are completely and totally disgusting. I learned quickly that if Khan didn’t puke on it, he peed on it, and if he didn’t puke or pee on it, he pooped on it. This kid has an amazing ability to pee around his diaper, no matter the brand or size, cloth or disposable. And when he was really little, he made that very liquid-y breast milk poopie that managed to leak out of every diaper we tried (we were warned, after a fashion; The Scientist claims the first time he changed Khan’s diaper in the hospital, the kid peed all the way across the room. I was, unfortunately, higher than a hippie at Woodstock, so I missed it).
Combined with the diaper problem, Khan had a serious spitting up thing the first few months of his life. Not projectile vomiting or anything, but he threw up a lot. His day wasn’t complete until he puked in my hair at least once.
So Khan changed clothes more often than Lady Gaga at the Grammys. Three times a day, on average.
Finally the spit up abated a bit, to be replaced by long strings of clear, teething-related drool. Around the same time we began giving him pureed baby food, so the liquid poopie began to solidify a little.
Then he started to mobilize. With all the rolling and twisting and tumbling, Khan began puking again. Only this time, it wasn’t white milk-vomit. It was orange (sweet potatoes), greenish (peas) or yellow (squash). And with the introduction of real food, his poopie started to smell. A lot.
The spit up tide has ebbed a bit, but now Khan eats solid food, it’s more interesting. Today’s was blackberry-purple with tiny chunks of mandarin oranges. At least now he’s puking in complimentary colors.
Now he’s reached the grand stage of feeding himself, more or less, things are grosser than ever. Watching him eat pasta is enough to make me lose my appetite (I’m not complaining; maybe I can finally lose some of this baby weight). I’ve cleaned chunks of bananas off the wall, cereal out of the carpet, and applesauce off the cat. Since Khan discovered food, he’s come to believe that everything solid is food. I’ve removed from his mouth rocks, cat food, paper, and other kids’ toes. And these days, he only wants to hug me if he’s been eating (and smearing) something incredibly sticky and staining.
I know it won’t end once he’s mastered utensils. Khan is a boy. There will be ice cream drips and skinned knees and crushed worms in his pockets and mud in his hair. And someday he’s going to throw up a half-eaten hot dog in my lap.
But hey, it’s true what people say: you don’t care how gross a kid is, as long as it’s your kid. You know he smells, but it doesn’t matter. Most stains will come out (except breast milk poopie stains. Those are lethal). Oatmeal crusted in your arm hair will eventually wash out. Someday Khan will learn to wipe his own bottom and wash his own hands. Maybe I’ll even miss having puke in my hair.
Maybe.
I was aghast. It was too much; they didn’t fit in his dresser, or his closet. So many onesies and tiny pants and socks and little hats, all for one baby? Ridiculous.
He’d never wear them all!
What I didn’t count on was the fact that babies are completely and totally disgusting. I learned quickly that if Khan didn’t puke on it, he peed on it, and if he didn’t puke or pee on it, he pooped on it. This kid has an amazing ability to pee around his diaper, no matter the brand or size, cloth or disposable. And when he was really little, he made that very liquid-y breast milk poopie that managed to leak out of every diaper we tried (we were warned, after a fashion; The Scientist claims the first time he changed Khan’s diaper in the hospital, the kid peed all the way across the room. I was, unfortunately, higher than a hippie at Woodstock, so I missed it).
Combined with the diaper problem, Khan had a serious spitting up thing the first few months of his life. Not projectile vomiting or anything, but he threw up a lot. His day wasn’t complete until he puked in my hair at least once.
So Khan changed clothes more often than Lady Gaga at the Grammys. Three times a day, on average.
Finally the spit up abated a bit, to be replaced by long strings of clear, teething-related drool. Around the same time we began giving him pureed baby food, so the liquid poopie began to solidify a little.
Then he started to mobilize. With all the rolling and twisting and tumbling, Khan began puking again. Only this time, it wasn’t white milk-vomit. It was orange (sweet potatoes), greenish (peas) or yellow (squash). And with the introduction of real food, his poopie started to smell. A lot.
The spit up tide has ebbed a bit, but now Khan eats solid food, it’s more interesting. Today’s was blackberry-purple with tiny chunks of mandarin oranges. At least now he’s puking in complimentary colors.
Now he’s reached the grand stage of feeding himself, more or less, things are grosser than ever. Watching him eat pasta is enough to make me lose my appetite (I’m not complaining; maybe I can finally lose some of this baby weight). I’ve cleaned chunks of bananas off the wall, cereal out of the carpet, and applesauce off the cat. Since Khan discovered food, he’s come to believe that everything solid is food. I’ve removed from his mouth rocks, cat food, paper, and other kids’ toes. And these days, he only wants to hug me if he’s been eating (and smearing) something incredibly sticky and staining.
I know it won’t end once he’s mastered utensils. Khan is a boy. There will be ice cream drips and skinned knees and crushed worms in his pockets and mud in his hair. And someday he’s going to throw up a half-eaten hot dog in my lap.
But hey, it’s true what people say: you don’t care how gross a kid is, as long as it’s your kid. You know he smells, but it doesn’t matter. Most stains will come out (except breast milk poopie stains. Those are lethal). Oatmeal crusted in your arm hair will eventually wash out. Someday Khan will learn to wipe his own bottom and wash his own hands. Maybe I’ll even miss having puke in my hair.
Maybe.
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