Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Birth plus 8 months

My son is getting so big. At eight months he really resembles a little boy instead of a little baby. I look at pictures taken from when he was just born in amazement of how small and fragile he looks compared to the mini-4X4 he resembles now. He does this thing now where he pulls himself up by my headboard on the bed and while holding onto it with two hands, repeatedly bangs it against the wall. Anybody who hears it probably thinks I’m having deranged, cocaine fueled sex with a hooker in the basement. He’s incredibly strong for a toddler as I’ve been bruised numerous times by the uncontrollable flailing of his little baby paws. I’m really trying to get on his good side now because I’m pretty sure sometime next decade he will clearly be able to whop my ass.

The best part of having a kid is seeing him smile. He was sick a few weeks ago and incredibly grouchy, which sucked. Not to mention he infected me with his demon baby germs and got me sick. I don’t know what it is but babies carry more germs and infections than a South African tranny. Whatever they have, you can be sure they will pass it onto you in ten-fold which was why I was hacking up my lungs and could barely swallow for about a week. But the smile is back and even though I’m really struggling right now because of this random joining of DNA, everything melts away when he looks at me with that beam of his. It took me a while, but I finally understand the whole baby thing as far as why people really get psychotic when it comes to their kids. I could never imagine my life without him at this point and if someone were to cause him harm I’d do nothing less than eat, digest and shit that person out.

I’m still not good with all the baby care like feeding, changing and clothing him. The last time I tried to put on his pajamas we broke into an all out wrestling match where I could barely pin his ass to the bed. And for those worried about hurting his little 8month body, you’d be surprised to know that babies are surprisingly durable, especially my favorite two-toothed psycho. I’d like to take a bigger role in the minutia of taking care of him, but honestly I’d rather smoke a blunt and play playstation than to deal with an underdeveloped human being. I don’t have the patience for all that is required so I usually end up with him having half the diaper off his ass, food down his chest and his clothes on backwards. Funny...thats pretty much how I look leaving the house every morning.


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