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Monday, July 5, 2010

Doing Time on Cellblock ABC

Naps Are for Babies (and Check Out My Abs!)
So we stopped taking a nap.  And by "we" I mean the only family member sans bladder control.  But darn it, the little guy was downright pleasant today, and he may be getting used to the new regime.  I had this crazy computer science teacher in high school that swore he only slept 4 hours a night, and loved it.  There was just too much to do. He had calculated (of course) how many years the average person "wasted" with all that unnecessary sleep.

Jack reminds me of that guy, and spends his erstwhile naptime doing stuff like this:

I caught him on Amazon ordering a set of kettlebells and some whey powder.

Anyway, the formally negotiated trade-off was to move bedtime up an hour.  Awesome.  He sticks to his end of the deal, and drops like a bag of hammers at 7:14pm.

Cribs Are for Babies, Too
And we stopped staying "in" the crib.  And by "we" I mean... oh forget it.  You know exactly who I mean.

I got one of those emails from Majesty last week.  You know, the emails that have 'YOUR SON' on the memo line.  She said Le Jacques had BASE jumped from his crib, and made it on foot to the bathroom rallying point, where he completed his objective (no not that one):  TP was piled gleefully on the rug.  The bottle of Johnson's Baby Shampoo was emptied on the TP with gusto.

The Zip-A-Kid Foolproof Incarceration Tent arrived a few days later.  If you're not familiar, think a crib mosquito net.  Only your kid is the mosquito, and you're trying to keep them in.  Tricky, that.  He thought it was great at first.  And I guess prison could theoretically be novel until you figure out you can't leave.  Cause dude, you can't.  IN YOUR FACE, BABY!  If you're scoring along at home, that's
Parental Poseurs:  3
Intrepid Infant:  436,705,729
I think we've got the momentum now.

Shame Is for Even Bigger Babies
I'm Bathtime Operations Mate.  Under the guise of upping my "Daddy Time," Majesty has brilliantly offloaded all the lifting and wrangling of the wily (and way slippery) little guy, well, to me.  Genius.  That chick is a genius.  So I'm entrusted with the daily upkeep of the best hair in the known universe.  It's a huge responsibility.  And we like, bond and stuff.  You icky, cootie-infested girls wouldn't understand.

So Jack and I are sitting there, chatting about what McChrystal was thinking when he greenlighted the Rolling Stone piece (you think I jest).  We're about finished up, and the sudsy water drains.  I'm getting the towel, chamois and power buffer ready.  And I see Captain Nekkid recline in the shallow end, with this relaxed look, and he just pees his little heart out.  Like Olympic Record high.  And he points with it.*  And it dawned on me:

That is the essence of being male.

*A lifelong skill, here, and a little-discussed perk of the y-chromosome.

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

Awesome plank pose! And you must have truely had your hand on the Good Book when you wrote this because truer words have never been spoken! You can't make up stuff like this.

BB Tucker said...

I loved every second of your soliloquoy. Donna came up and out of her baby bed the day of our 18 month portraits. They are really cute, with the red unexplainable dot on her chin. Not a bad scar for that much of a drop.
There were days I would walk into a room, and the drawers of my bedroom dresser would have been pulled out to make steps. On my dresser top were the remnants of colognes. How on earth do babies learn these things?
I think wayward angels must be wanting a laugh!
Jack is brilliant, handsome, and talented. Deadly combo!!!!

El Comodoro said...

I know. I had no idea Secret Agent Training started this early.

Cindy Deister said...

Good luck w/ the netting. Of course, with this summer, it could serve two purposes.