Velcrometer Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
M. Tiny has something to say.
It's not unusual for him to sit on my lap while I write, or read e-mail (99% of which I haven't answered since he was born, by the way. I'll get back to you! I'm sorry!), or moderate the 24 forums. I'll sort of bounce him on my lap to keep him from getting too bored, fencing him in between my arms as I type. Sometimes he'll be fascinated at what's happening on the monitor. Content is not a predictor of this. Homestar Runner cartoons, even those featuring his namesake, don't capture his attention any more than does a Word document. It just depends on his mood.
Tonight he was in the mood to lunge for the keyboard.
/.> ml>./ Hiuimhjnjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj iu o8o8 b nmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm n,m mkijnm . hh b nh jim8nm7m, po[',,,
As you can see, he's pretty much only using his right hand. And he probably would have gotten a lot more written if he hadn't kept mashing the control, alt, menu, and Windows keys at the bottom edge of my keyboard. All these weird menus kept popping up, so I would click the mouse to make them disappear. Sometimes for a second at a time before he hit a special button again.
It might be twee of me to post this. It feels like one step removed from having him record our outgoing answering voice-mail greeting. But it's probably not as twee as the other thing I did, which was to save the document on my hard drive in his own subfolder that I created tonight for that purpose. One day he'll feel frustrated, working on some history paper, saying he can't write. And I'll pull up his first composition, written when he was just under six months old, titled "Kmhjun hjk," and I'll say, "But look how much you've improved."
We parents have to plan for the future, you know.
* * *
There are two words that some parents fear more than any other. Those words are "explosive diarrhea." I used to be one of those parents. Not any more.
M. Tiny had a stomach flu late last week. He's better now. I'll spare you the details. Except for this:
An explosion occurs when a force is powerful enough to break free of whatever's containing it, and pent-up potential energy is released in chaotic fashion. In the case of explosive diarrhea, that containment vessel generally constitutes a diaper. The soupy goo literally bursts forth from the flimsy assembly of space-age polymers foolishly arrayed against it. But this isn't generally a literal explosion. The damage, such as it is, is generally confined to the baby, baby's diaper, and whatever (or whomever) the baby is sitting on when he or she blows. And the baby wipes clean fairly easily. I wasn't able to find any cases in the medical literature of babies literally exploding in a shower of flame and poo. If I had, you bet your ass I would share them.
Trash and I have now faced explosive diarrhea, and we have survived. But we have seen what's worse.
What is worse is when there is no explosion because nothing is there to contain the mighty force in the first place. When the baby is on the changing table, between diapers, having ointment applied to his or her…ointment-hole…and turns out to…not be done after all. What occurs then can only be called "projectile diarrhea."
But we survived that as well, because the damage here is also limited. Specifically, it's limited to the items in that room at the time. Of course, it's limited to every item in the room at the time, including parents, but it's limited nonetheless. To items like the bookcase, the wall, the diaper caddy, the chair, the basket of bibs and burp-rags, the tissue box, the wipe dispenser, the other wall, the window, the ceiling, the ceiling fan, the cat, the other cat…
Wait, I said I was going to spare you the details, didn't I? And so I shall.
* * *
Our friend Bitter got us the greatest baby gift yesterday. It's called a Wee Blocker. Basically it’s a spongy little concave thingy that fits over a young man's bits and pieces during the diaper change. I don't know if I've ever mentioned this, but M. Tiny's ability to take advantage of the slightest unguarded moment is legendary. Even at the doctor's office, when the seen-it-all nurse is undressing him for weighing:
Nurse: I'll just get his diaper off… Trash: Careful, he's a pee-er. Nurse (condescendingly): Oh, don't worry, I have exper--Jesus!
We'd gotten pretty good at protecting ourselves--and his clothes, and the changing table surface--with strategically placed facial tissues. But now he wants to grab those and rub them over his face. Not optimal.
So the Wee Blocker is a godsend. Now if we could just rig it up with an elastic strap. And leave it on until he starts school.
And one in the back. That one would need a chain, of course. And probably some kind of certification from the Army Corps of Engineers.
* * *
Today's best search phrase: "You! read rhymes about girls who cheated on you." Yes, you! And if you've never been cheated on, get out there and get cheated on and then make up some rhymes about it! What are you waiting for, maggot? MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!
We bought Wee Blockers a few months ago after giving my son a bath (we bathe in him the kitchen so that we can use the high counters and save our knees)and he decided to pee all over my lovely, lovely apples. We have the Whizz Kid and Captain Blast-Off blockers; which one did you get?
There is more to fear! The only thing worse than a case of the explosive runs is The Rhota Virus (sp?). It's a case of the explosive runs that lasts for 6 weeks and smells like a can a tuna that has been left out for 3 weeks and then gently brought to a boil. It is a smell to behold!!!
Re: Tiny's first document, I'm torn. On the one hand, you are king nerd dad of the universe. On the other, awwwww. I may have become a little verklempt, for a moment.
Re: "ointment hole," heh.
Re: Wee Blockers, cool! But as a grizzled baby-wrangler, I'm not afraid to use my hand. Of course, that leaves only one hand free unless it's a tag-team change, plus my hands have purple nitrile gloves on whenever I'm around the little poopers, so YMMV...
Do you think M. Tiny's first work of writing could have anything to do with his love of the Brothers Chaps? Next he'll be typing "fhqwhgads".
Love to the baby and the rest of the Giant fam! And tell Trash that her comments on the mommy drive by thread at Chez Miscarriage -- I'm pretty sure it was her, given as they were about open adoption -- were friggin hee-larious. I couldn't get the link to her email to work right.
Yay! Schuyler's fund at Darn-Tootin' reached goal and soon she will get a voice box. Thanks to everyone who helped to donate -- I understand that (at least) a couple of you clicked over and donated, despite not being Darn-Tootin' readers. So thanks.
And Parcequilfaut, if the comment was eventually about serial killers, that would indeed be me.
Having survied both explosive and projectile diarrhea, there are worse things. The boy (now seven) went through a stage where he only pooped once every seven to 10 days. No diaper on earth would contain it. Once he did this on the way to play group so there was I in a public washroom with no changing table trying to clean up a nine-month old with poop coming out of the collar of his shirt and moving into his hair. Very exciting! The other thing that's worse is having a baby with Norwalk who after throwing up in her bed and yours throws up inside your night shirt.
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