Seven things you don’t know about my baby, which isn’t what I was tagged with, but you know I can’t follow directions worth a damn:
- 3B is a little Linus with his lovies, which, for the record, are simply burp diapers because we are bent on humiliating and depriving our child…also because we’re pragmatic and listened to the advice of my sisters, so we always have burp diapers with us. Also, should we ever lose his beloved lovie, we can by a 10-pack of replacements for a few bucks. That’s good, because if one lovie is good, two are better, and three or four or thirty-seven are even better.
- 3B loves airplanes. It started with him watching birds, and then he moved on to planes. (Yes, birds are a gateway drug.) Now, using his spidey senses, 3B can hear a plane that’s only audible to bats and jack rabbits, at which time he points straight up into the sky and looks at us to point out to him the plane that we can neither hear nor see. At times, he hasn’t heard anything; he’s requesting that we make a plane appear–to which I say, “Sure, I’ll just pull one out of my…” and put a dollar in the curse jar (thanks for that parenting tip, mofo).
- 3B throws multiple gang signs now. He’s got one for IBS, one for this rhyme about an old bee in the barn that his Grammy taught him, and one for airplanes. When he gets them all rolling, he looks like a coked-up third base coach trying to communicate the text of Ulysses to a runner on second, with his hands flying all over his body.
- 3B loves broccoli (which you all know), brushing his teeth (we have to keep toothbrushes and toothpaste with us because his majesty is wont to request them at any time–and whine until he gets them), and bathtime (although he would rather pass on the shampooing). Maybe 3B stands for Broccoli, Brushing, and Bathing.
- 3B makes a tick, tick, tick sound to refer to clocks, either when he sees one or wants to see one.
- 3B won’t perform any of his tricks for strangers. He often won’t perform them for Ms. K at daycare or even for us. Again, he is not a trained monkey.
- Whenever 3B is going to do something that we’ve told him not to do, like climb up on his toy bench to play with the TV and the laptop, he starts chanting his new mantra: “No. No. No. No. No. No.” He announces his truly perilous stunts with his advanced mantra: “Danger! Danger! Danger!” Dude, if you know we don’t want you to do it, why do you…oh, right, you’re 15 months old, going on 2 years old.
“No. No. No.” is what I felt like saying as I approached NaBloPoMo this year, even though I remembered
hating it for 29 days eventually loving it last year. It forced discipline on me, it made me focus on my writing and broaden and deepen the ground my writing covered. OK, it also made my writing sketchy and superficial at times, but if America can still love Paris Hilton, how can it hate a shallow daddy blogger? Would it help if I rode in my limo without underwear? I suppose that loses its effect unless I wear a tight miniskirt, huh?
If only I had a miniskirt. Hm. (Danger! Danger! Danger!) Maybe L.A. Daddy will loan me his.