Talking About Giving

"Good night, buddy. I love you."

"What are we going to do tomorrow?"

"We're going to give blood. Then we're going to Central Market."

"Am I going to do it?"

"No, I'm going to give blood. You're too young."

"Why?"

"Because you have to be bigger to give blood. That's the rule."

"Well, when I'm bigger, I don't want to give blood."

"OK. You don't have to. It's your choice. I like to give blood."

"Well, I don't. I like to give poop!"

"Good night."

"I said 'poop.'"

"Yes, I know. I heard you."

Rotator Cuff Tendonitis

So I've been to a few doctors lately, and whatnot. I'd love to tell you more about the conversation Thumper had with one of them, but it would be wrong. You wouldn't respect me in the morning. Seriously, when I recounted it to Aerie that night after the boy had gone to bed, we both laughed out loud in a particularly "we can never tell anyone about this" sort of way. Good times. I'd bet money that doctor told his wife about it when he got home.

But (one part of) the upshot of all is that I'm in physical therapy now for my long-standing shoulder injury, which the physical therapist believes is a result of me hoisting my giant toddler over my head to carry him on my shoulders several times a day. She thinks maybe I should quit doing that for a little bit of a while.

One good thing is that most of the physical therapy is about strengthening all of my other muscles, particularly my back and "core" (read, "abdominal muscles") so that my left shoulder won't have to compensate for all of its brethren throughout the rest of my body every time I pick the two-year-old-that-everyone-mistakes-for-a-four-year-old up.

So, anyway. I'm finally diversifying my workout routine to include a wide range of upper and lower body resistance exercises, as well as sit-ups and crunches and a yoga ball, etc. All stuff I've known about, considered, and put off. So maybe this stabbing pain in my shoulder will help me get over the hump and actually start losing weight again.

Ah, January 1st

Thumper thought he'd start the new year by getting all of those firsts behind him. He peed. He pooped. He puked. He was awake at 7:00, playing patty-cake with his feet and soaked through the sheets, despite the 2 hemp liners in his diaper. After a satisfying breakfast of Kix, milk, banana and CODGE CHEEZ, we played quietly in the front room with his awesome wooden train from GUMMAS and GUMPA so as not to disturb DEDDY, who was still taking a NAP. Then, Thumper grew still, his face serious. POOP! he announced and proceeded to take care of business. Afterwards, when I suggested we go change his diaper, he countered with the recommendation that we watch POP POP and tried to saddle himself up on the computer chair. Doing so must have put a bit too much pressure on his tummy and out came the milk and CODGE CHEEZ, through both the mouth and the nose, of course. No matter, though. We cleaned it all up and did the laundry. If you have a small one and don't own a battery powered BOOGIE sucker, I highly recommend getting one.

This year, I resolve to floss more. We'll see how that goes. Resolutions? Let's face it. It doesn't matter what day of the year it is. If you make a promise to change when you're not ready to change, it ain't gonna happen. How many years did I resolve to lose weight? Oh, like every year for the last 10 years. I'd make some progress, but then stop trying and just gain it back. January 1 holds no special voodoo. It was some November day in 2007 that I was ready to commit to that promise. And 13 months later, I've dropped 37 pounds and am wearing a size I haven't been able to fit in for a decade. I still have a ways to go and I did fall off the wagon a bit during the holidays. I will get back on the right path, but not because it's a new year. Because I'm ready.

I do love New Year's Day, though. While it's not a resolution, for some reason, January 1 always seems to get me into cleaning up things and getting back on track. Thumper helped inspire me this morning. With the UCKY laundry to do and new clothes to put away, it seemed like the right time to pack away garments that don't fit him and get his room organized. He was quite cooperative most of the morning.

After our morning nap and lunch, Thumper was very enthusiastic about a bike ride with MOMMA and DEDDY which included a stop at the park to play for a spell. This was helpful in getting me back on track with exercising regularly, which has fallen a bit by the wayside recently. And it was fun. I struggle with making time to have fun. So, thank you Thumper for helping me get back on track.

Oh, and did I mention I flossed last night?

Bath Time Lessons

It's bath time, and I've washed and rinsed the boy. Now he's just playing. He's on his knees fiddling with the faucet, and one of his nesting bath cups is floating in the water. I hear the sound of a stream splashing into the cup. He looks down and asks, "Poop?"

"No," I reply. "That would be pee."

And thus another life lesson is successfully passed from father to son.

He Accepted the Challenge

At his one-year checkup, we mentioned to Thumper's doctor that we thought he might be lactose intolerant. He was on a milk-based formula, but we had a few diaper incidents, so we switched him to soy. But he didn't like soy and wouldn't drink it, so we compromised and mixed them half and half. And there was peace and prosperity throughout the kingdom. So since we're getting the boy off the bottle, we asked the doctor what he thought about soy milk.

He's not a fan of soy milk because it's not fortified with as much stuff as whole milk. He said when the boy gets a little older, we can test him to see if he has a true milk allergy or a lactose intolerance like his Mama. The doctor suggested that, in the meantime, we "challenge" the boy by giving him whole milk and seeing what happens. I guess kids sometimes grow out of these things. So we've kept the morning and bedtime formula bottles and replaced the two post-nap bottles with a sippy cup of whole milk. But he doesn't like it. He sips it, then scoffs and throws it on the floor. He throws a fit if I insist. I'm sure all of our carpets are spotted with splashes of milk and will probably start smelling funny any day now. So he's been getting some whole milk, but not a whole lot.

Well today, Thumper decided to rise to the challenge. Only he misunderstood what the challenge was. He thought that, perhaps in honor of the Olympics starting today, he would go for new world records in the volume and distance categories. I spent twenty minutes on the floor of the Souper Salad bathroom, the one that doesn't believe in changing tables in men's rooms, cleaning horrible, noxious, chunky pudding off of him, his clothes, and the high chair. During lunch, I noticed a momentary reddening of his face and thought, "Well, I can probably wait to change him until we get over to the mall." The mall has beautiful bathrooms with a faux marble changing table built right into the wall. In the men's room!

So we finished our lunch, left our tip, and as I was reaching down to unbuckle him, I noticed a pool of goo sitting on the seat next to his thigh. It was smeared down the back of his leg and the front of the seat. I thought I'd caught a whiff of something when I took out my wallet for the tip, but I hadn't divined this. Did anyone else notice? Horrified, I hoped it hadn't already made it to the floor and rolled him straight into the bathroom and into the handicapped stall to get started on the cleanup. I'm sure the guy in the next stall thought I was a rude son of a bitch, because he kept grunting and farting, and I kept saying, "Oh. Oh God. Oh, that's horrible. Oh, Jesus." I tried to amuse myself as I worked by imagining the news story I'd see later on when we got home: "Thirty-six people were caught in this horrible, tragic mudslide. Thirteen remain missing, but rescue workers are still optimistic that more survivors will emerge as they continue to dig through the night."

Twenty minutes later, with Thumper cleaned and into a fresh onesie, I rolled the high chair back out again. I said "Um, excuse me?" to a passing waiter and explained that I'd done my best to clean the chair up, but it should probably be disinfected or something. He stood like a statue while I spoke. I don't think he was even breathing. When I finished, he said, "Oh. OK." I said, "I'm sorry about that," and he said, as he probably felt he had to, "That's OK." Even though I'd washed it down with about a whole pack of baby wipes, plus more than a couple anti-bacterial wipes, I didn't want to just roll it back out to be used by the next unsuspecting parent to come along, although by that waiter's reaction, I wouldn't be surprised if that's what happened anyway. Oh, parenting certainly has its moments, doesn't it?

So anyway, I guess if the doctor ever tells us to "challenge" the boy again, I might just kick him in the balls.

The Fundamentals of Comedy

THUMPER: *Farts* Hee hee hee! Tut!

RODIUS: Toot.

T: Hee hee hee! Tut!

R: Tooooooooot.

T: Hee hee hee! Tut!

R: *Burps* Excuse me!

T: Hee hee hee! Bup!

R: Burp.

T: Hee hee hee! Bup!

R: Buurrrrrrpppp!

T: Hee hee hee!

He's a prodigy, that boy. I couldn't be prouder.