Monday, March 2, 2009

Spitting like a man


Well, Quentin has learned a new trick or skill depending on who you are. I thought he was turning into a premier spitter, possibly on his way to the Skoal championships, but more advanced parents have told me that he is blowing bubbles. This is when you pucker your lips like you are going to give someone a smooch. Not a tongue wagging make-out session but a peck like you would give someone on the cheek. And then, well spit. Apparently, all children go through this stage. I was helping him practice as we were spitting on the floor and really doing a good job at it and then someone told me that wasn't the point. What a buzz kill! We have finally gotten past the pooping on everyone and his outfits and yours, so you think you've moved on, but I have just come to the realization that there is a never ending amount of bodily fluids that are going to be ejected from the Qster. When one ends another just picks up where the last one left off. So we have moved on from being covered in poop to being covered in Quentin's spit. After pondering for a moment you realize just how good you've got it. Soaking wet is a lot better then looking like you work in the manure business. I'll take pool boy over manure boy any day of the week. (At daycare today - two outfits got pooped on. Attaboy)!

He's also puking a lot more, which is significantly more disgusting. I don't know what the movie was but around Christmas there was a trailer out there with some kid puking on an unsuspecting guest who was childless (Reese Witherspoon?). It was gross and there was a lot. Yup, that was perfectly accurate. There is a ton. You almost wonder if he is actually eating any of it. Then you look at that gut he's grown and you realize some of it must be going down. He's really growing horizontal more then vertical at this point. He's got one heck of a gut. He's also starting to get the doughboy arms and legs where it's pudge-central. Good for him. I'm trying to lose, he gets to put it on. What a perfect life!

He is officially in full time daycare getting every dollar's worth. Carrie and I have been working on a schedule so we can find some sort of routine. She has been dropping him off in the morning and I've been picking him up in the afternoon. Yesterday was my first day. I almost resigned. I forgot my key so I can't get in. These places are notorious sexist so upon hitting the buzzer I'm immediately judged as a sex offender. Male? Daycare? Obviously he's here to molest the children. Lock down! I need to play 20 questions with the person in charge proving I'm actually related to a child in the building. Note to self to never forget key again. I then don't know how to sign him out so I have to deal with the same lady to walk me through it, all the while giving me the stink eye or maybe it was the evil eye wondering if she should check the sex offender website. I'm clear. I only have to pick up my child, his belongings, strap him in to the car seat, ask a few questions to the non-English speaking teacher who nods politely to all my questions. Wait that wasn't a yes/no question. Forget it. I grab my kid, who is happy to see me and get him into the car. Success!

I drive 10 feet and the wailing begins. He's strapped in. I'm strapped in. He is screaming like I've never heard before. I immediately think my wife has set me up. She purposely chose the morning shift because he's still sleeping and the afternoon is all mine because he's crabby at that point. I knew it! I hit every red light in the state. He's still screaming. I'm slamming his cork (pacifier) in his mouth but within nanoseconds he's spitting it out wailing some more. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Will this traffic please move! For the love can I make one light please!!! Twenty minutes. Still screaming. I round the corner into our subdivision at a conservative 30 MPH. There is some tire screeching. I am hauling into the driveway. I lock the brakes up and get him out of the car like I get paid by the second. I throw the door open, find his mother, pass him to her, immediately make a very important pit stop at the beer fridge. I find the calmness of Heineken. The dutch know how to calm. I think George Bush had it all wrong "torturing" these Al Qaeda folks with rock music 24/7. No, that's a vacation. He should've been pumping in my kid screaming at full volume. After 10 minutes they would've told anyone anything they wanted to know. Osama Bin Laden would already be in custody. I am hoping this was a one time incident or on top of paying for daycare we're going to have to pay for a chauffeur because I can assure you no one can take that on a daily basis. Fortunately, this (hear that sound of knocking on wood?) was a one time incident right? Check out Q growing up. He looks so big already!

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