Thursday, June 22, 2006

My Son, the Rocket Launcher...


Yes, that's him. Look how innocent. Yeah, right.

Today was the day of explosive bodily functions. Good times.

This morning I was audience to and target of a lovely butt blast of poo. Right in the middle of a diaper change. The first diaper change of my day. You know, that groggy, not on my game yet, reflexes still a bit slow diaper change. Yeah, that one. Ethan, or at least his butt, is always on, however, so we were not at all equal opponents in this battle.

I had just removed the dirty diaper and was lovingly coo'ing to my seemingly sleepy little one, the picture of innocence and peace (surprising for a diaper change; they are usually greeted with a sense of righteous indignation that involves some serious wailing and flailing). As I reached for a fresh-scented wipe, I heard the "thpppbbbbttttt" of air. This is common; one would think my son reguarly indulged in chilli or other bean-based treats considering the frequency and ferocity of his gas. He does not.

Well, this time the gas was accompanied by whatever was left from my darling's last feeding. I will spare you the details, but let me say this--thank goodness we used washable paint on his nursery walls. It was a bit modern-arty and perhaps would be worth some money someday if it hadn't been made of poo...

One would think this was enough explosiveness for the day, but no. With the butt explosion conquered, Ethan clearly felt he had to give equal time to the realm of burping/spitting up. By mid-day we had had a fairly peaceful day. There was play time, nap time, tummy time, and several little noshes to fill the little man's tummy.

After one of the above mentioned noshes, Ethan was inspired to "bedazzle" mama's shirt with a fabulous spray of milk. Let me say this, once it's out of my body via the boob, I really don't expect to ever see it or interact with it again. I'm done with it. But my son seems to think that I want it back, like it's only on loan to him, and that I want to wear it. He looks at me like a cat bringing home a dead bird and dropping it at my feet, "Here, Mama, I thought you might like this. Love you." Yeah, thanks, kid. Who needs a necklace or pair of earrings for accessories when you have a kicky little breast milk stain all over your collar and shoulder?! And you can toss out the perfume, too, as it's got quite a distinctive aroma. So cost effective...

like I said, good times...


1 comment:

gringa said...

Ah yes....I remember those days...:-)

You wouldn't think that what you feed him could produce so much stuff!