Friday, February 24, 2012

Don't Mess With Florox

"Parents aren't interested in justice.  They want QUIET." -Bill Cosby

This happened a few weeks ago, way back in the Precarolinian era.

If you didn't know, Jack is five kinds of sneaky.  He's a sweet kid, but when he wants something, he will float around and strike when no one is looking.  The guy just oozes secretive and crafty.

I guess most people value their privacy in the john, and Jack does, too.  The difference is, we're all fairly capable of cleaning up after ourselves, in general.  Mostly.  Jack's working on that, but he's not quite there.

The backdrop to almost everything happening in Jacktopia now is control.  Little kids want control, so they grab whatever they've got at the time.  Doesn't matter what.  "Oh, Mommy, so you NEED me to eat this yogurt?  WELL FORGET IT."

So now to the bottom of it.  No, the actual bottom.  His actual bottom.  We've still gotta help the dude out in the post-toxic waste cleanup phase with a wipe or twelve.  They're sensitive skin wipes, because he inherited the world's most fair, easily offended, pasty white English sissy skin ever.  From somebody.  Using anything else other than the sensitive wipes makes his bum glow like the neon VACANCY sign outside a motel.  Fine, no sweat.  All in a day's work.  But Jack wants - say it with me now - control... Still with me?

Majesty left him to his own devices to do his bidness.  Left him about 5 minutes.  (In Mischievous Little Boy Time, that's enough time to finance, organize and execute a military coup.)  When she checks in on him, he's just about to start hoisting those little pants right up...
H.M.:  Wait, Jack!  Don't pull up your pants; I haven't wiped your bottom yet!
Proud Jack: Mommy, I wiped my bottom!
Extremely Suspicious H.M.:  You did?  What did you wipe with?
Still Incredibly Proud Jack:  Florox wipes!
Florox.  You may say to yourself, as I did, "Say, Florox sure does rhyme well with Clorox."

Sure enough, that sucker had gotten out the Clorox kill-any-germ-on-the-planet-stone-dead Assault Wipes rather than the Pampers my-rear-end-is-as-sensitive-as-an-orchid Self Esteem Building Wipes.  He had gone to town.  His rump looked like it had weathered a Communist Revolution.

Some time back, I noticed that there was one of those silly legal disclaimers on the can that says they're NOT TO BE USED AS BABY WIPES.  I thought of the foolish first-time parent dad that lawyered up to get that on the package.  Was he changing the baby out in his shop?  Under the kitchen sink?

Majestad asked Jack this week what he'll do if Caroline spits up on him.
I will put her in time out!
Won't work, kid.  I've tried it.  "E" for effort.

Caroline remains a great, easy baby.  She just lounges around bending me to her will.  Let's hope that sticks.  Somebody told us, "You guys earned it."  Dang straight we did.  She sleeps all but about 2 hours a day, wakes up 2 times a night to nurse and goes right back to sleep.  HATES a wet diaper - hey, who doesn't - and really enjoys her crib mobile - again, who doesn't.

Anyway, big brother is doing great with her too, and loves to hold her and sing to her and kiss her and almost clobber her accidentally with guitar stands and toys and small white chairs.  The usual stuff.

But with the good big brother act comes...  The weird big brother act.  We catch Jack up at all hours of the night, now.  One night he was up trying to play for two hours.  He wakes everyone up with unannounced visits and spontaneous conversation.  One time we found him in Caroline's closet.  Her closet.  (Bit stalkerish.)  The real tragedy being that this was the one and only night that Girly Girl slept 5.5 hours.

Majesty caught The Dude in the bed with Caroline.  I mean, it's like the Green Giant taking over Thumbelina's crib.  After H.M. got him out of there, she asked what he thought he was doing:
I sword fighted her!
Of course you did.  And this is how parents get themselves arrested in the E.R. for child abuse.  NO OFFICER, I'M TELLING YOU HE SWORDFIGHTED HER!  NO, NO, DON'T TAZE ME!

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

The Coming of Caroline (Brief Version)

Since I've been called out by my only reader, I'll put up this post.  Under protest.  I have a few ideas I want to cover over the next few weeks, but they may have to wait for my eyes to stop burning.

How to begin?  I'm not really keen on vitals, but everyone else seems to be, so:

Birthday:  February 9th
Weight:  I'm told it's rude to ask.  Okay, fine.  7 pounds, 5 ounces
Length:  20.25 inches (precisely the same as Jack, from what I can remember)
Likes:  Music, long walks on the beach, milk products
Dislikes:  "Mean" people (pretty much anyone with a needle), Similac
C-section went well.  Our awesome hippie doctor had Caroline extricated in no time flat, and it was on to the violent crying.  And to the harassment and scrubbing by masked nurse people and some buffoonish clown holding a camera too close.  Actually heard in the recovery area before H-hour:

Nurse Random:  Hey, those are cute shoes.  What kind?
Hippie Doc:  What?  Oh, Keen.
Nurse Random:  Huh?
Hippie Doc:  Keen.  As in "Robert Earl."
You can understand our choice of doctors.

Our nurse in recovery told us we had a friend outside waiting.  It was our supergreat preacher's supergreat wife.  We hugged (apparently we're on hugging terms, now).  She beat EVERYBODY in the family to the punch, both sides.  Quite a feat.

We actually had about 3 or 4 of the same great nurses we got last time with Jack.  Late one night, as Miss Janice strolls into our room,  it was just the best realization as it dawns on me and the missus just who it is.  Miss Janice is this older, stooped, hilarious black nurse that we loved back in 2008.  We love her still.  We're talking catastrophically hilarious, here.  I have many, many just completely non-PC anecdotes.  Make me tell them to you in person where they can't impact my career.

We saw (Baton Rouge's own) Miss Cambra, of 2008's "Oil Change Diaper" video fame, which I probably STILL have not posted on this here blog, some threepointfive years later.  I came in and Majesty was discussing smocking with her.


The saintly lactation consultant (you heard me - just ask somebody if you need the 411 on all that business) Miss Sheri returned, too.  Thankfully, she didn't have to pull our bacon out of the fire this time.  Far less dangerous stuff going on with Caroline than with Mr. Dude.

Caroline's calmness in utero continues out here in the free world.  She's the antithesis of everything Jack.  She is matter to his antimatter.  She looks just like he did as a wee little baby, as Jack says.  I told somebody it's oddly like having two identical cars, both beautiful on the outside, but with completely different interiors, engines, circuitry, everything.


We actually forgot Caroline was in the room a few times at the hospital.  She would squeak quietly during a conversation, and each of us would look, stunned, over at her plexi-crib baby shoebox thingy, and then glance back sheepishly at each other.  We forgot.  About our newborn.  WE ARE HORRIBLE PEOPLE AND EVEN WORSE PARENTS.

All our family came down/over and spent a few days with us.  We stuffed a bunch of people into that little hospital room, dude.  Oh, and check out the picture at left - that's Jack's first moment seeing Caroline.  I mean, just check that look out.  That's the best.  I think he'll fill the big brother spot terrifically.

Lastly, if you're interested in helping me rid myself of absolutely free, non-bubblegum, totally and completely legally legal cigars, leave a message in the comments and we'll work out delivery.  Supplies are limited.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Hiccups with A Side of Desitin

If we can deal with the wallpaper, then you can.
Just had my entire (finished) post deleted.  I hate Blogger.  Hate it.  With a fiery, hateful hate.  Nor will it let me upload pictures.  Maybe later.  When it's not being an idiot.

I was told to pass along bigtime thanks to everybody involved in The Huge Box of Goodies from Mobile.  About 35 relatives got together and shipped us every imaginable article of clothing for the little one.  I think we just give out the vibe "THESE PEOPLE NEED SERIOUS HELP" to everybody.  Comes in handy.

After everything was opened and awed and cooed over and neatly folded, Jack looked around and said "I [fink] Caroline likes pink."  Could be on to something there, champ.

Random fact:  We've discovered Jack thinks meat thermometers are used to cool things off.  It's difficult to disabuse somebody of that kind of notion.

Misery Index Update:  Majestad informs me that it's hard enough to breathe when one is waddling around at 37 weeks prego, but it's pure misery to have a sinus infection on top of that.  Just FYI.

Apparently, Princess Caroline is a strong little thing (I know, how long did you figure I could go before using that one?) .  If Majesty spends any time on her side, resting her arm on her stomach, Caroline can stretch out enough to lift H.M.'s arm up for several seconds.  Protein powder.  That's what it is.

We feel kinda bad for the little Girlity Girl, as she gets the hiccups every single night at bedtime.  It's more difficult to get a spoonful of crunchy sugar to a baby in utero than you might think.  Or to make them hold their breath.  Or scare them witless.  The paper bag thing is right out.  They're entirely safe from parental harassment.  For now.  FOR NOW, BABY.

Rollercoasters.  A rollercoaster.  I'll work on that.

On a completely unrelated note, has anyone had any experience - and particularly success - in getting large quantities of Desitin out of carpet?

I'm asking for a friend of mine.