Week 17 Day 5: Gavin-Claude Van Damme

Parenting pro tip: Don't let your 24 lb. baby stand on your throat. It fucking hurts.

Let's see you find that in any parenting book. I do, sadly, speak from experience on this one (as opposed to everything else I've written in this here blog, which consists of conjecture and lies). He might well have a career ahead of him as a kickboxer (which is, mind you, not my first choice of potential occupations for my son. In fact, kickboxing combines two things I am not fans of: violence and feet. More specifically, causing violence with your feet).

Lest you think that Gavin is dangerous and in need of anger management, let me explain. We were playing in his room, and one of his favorite things is to stand up while holding on to my hands. He gets an especially big kick out of standing on top of me. So there I was on the floor and Gavin is standing on my stomach and I'm holding him and he's wobbly but things are fine when he suddenly lunges forward. Now he's standing on my rib cage. I'm still holding his hands so no one's in any danger here, or so I thought. My ribs are steadier ground than my stomach (I do not have abs of steel to say the least) and he's less wobbly, so he doesn't need as much support from me so I loosen my grip a little bit, but I'm still holding on. And the next part is all heat, whirlwind and flash, as they say, but he does another lunge that's really more of a stumble and even though I'm still holding onto him, he plants his chunky bare (also bear) paw right on my throat while trying to get his footing, thereby shifting the bulk of his weight to my larynx -- or it could be my trachea, I don't know, I'm not a body scientist. But from the diagram on Wikipedia, it looks like the correct area is my larynx. Regardless of anatomical correctness, the result is a sore throat. Not a "gosh, I could sure use a cup of peppermint tea" kind of sore but a "damn, I think my throat is bruised internally" kind of sore. Needless to say, Gavin is on punishment.

Kidding. Also, what does "on punishment" even mean? I take issue with the use of "on" in this instance. Perhaps "on punishment" is married to "on accident." I hope they never have babies.

In non-injury news, my friend Matthew came over today and we went on a stroll with Gavin and Henri. I hadn't seem him in a long time, not since before Gavin was born. Gavin really liked him. Well, he liked Matthew's facial hair and glasses, at least. But he also didn't cry when Matthew came in, which is good. Gavin's doesn't freak out when meeting all new people, but he does have a case of Stranger Danger, which is appropriate at this age. But Matthew is a pretty cheerful guy and doesn't have a deep booming voice and I think that helps. I sadly forgot to take a photo of Gavin and Matthew, which is generally my policy with visitors, so Matthew is going to have to come back again soon. Not just for the photo, of course, it would be good to see him again.

Gavin took a crappy afternoon nap yet again today. Someone needs to have a Come to Jesus with him about sleeping for only 45 minutes when in reality he should be sacking away two hours, hour and a half a minimum. Crappy naps always make the second half of the day feel a lot longer because a crabby Gavin is not so good at entertaining himself or holding interest in anything for very long (since, you know, babies have super long attention spans to begin with). So by the time Stacy came home I felt wrung out. Not to mention the unpleasantness of talking or swallowing. So TGIF and all that shit. And of course I mean the restaurant. I'm going there right now to get drunk.

Please note: the author of this blog doesn't drink alcohol. So she is really just going for the Sizzlin' Chicken Mexicali, something she only eats when sneaking out while her wife and son are asleep.

Please also note: the author of this blog is a vegetarian. She is also in her pajamas right now (not that pajamas aren't appropriate attire for a T.G.I. Fridays). The only place she is going is to bed.