Sunday, April 15, 2012

Who's a Good Boy?!

    I had a startling realization today: I talk to my son like he's my puppy.
    In fact, I treat him as if he's my puppy.

    I will often say things like, but not limited to:

    Who's a good boy? Wyatt's a good boy! Don't eat that shoe Wyatt! That's my shoe. Eat this old shoe. Wyatt!! Did you get into the paper again? You are growing so big! Look at all of the things you can do!! You've sure got strong teeth!! Try to stand on two legs!! Look at you dressed in these cute people clothes!!
     And then I'll rub his belly and stroke his hair and maybe scratch behind his ears. And I've taken to rubbing his nose in his poo when he poops through his diaper. And I am trying to teach him the word "no" about touching dirty or dangerous things around him. These all seem very canine to me.
     I hope this doesn't last forever.
     You've seen some of my videos where I talk to him! It's not baby talk... it's puppy talk.  But most importantly, I will reshare all of the things he puts in his mouth, like a dog:

     That last one is actually one that I am looking forward to. I once had a friend tell me that the first time his daughter tasted sugar - like a real heavy dose of it - was a taste of some milkshake. She then promptly lit up with a huge grin and threw her face in the milkshake, wanting more. I want to video tape Wy's first bite - and then first bowl - of CTC so that I can document the happiest moment of his life.

     Other things that don't really make up for their own blog post, but are worth sharing:

     The other day I went to Costco. I had Wyatt in tow. I wanted to get a shopping cart before I pulled him out of the car, so I left him in the car (doors unlocked - I am stressed about locking him in the car like in modern family), took about 5 seconds to get a cart and returned. I was no more than 12 feet from him at any point.
     As I came back with my cart there was an elderly woman (50's I'd guess) who had slowed down as her husband kept walking. She was nervous. She was peering all over the parking lot and looking in at the car. It's like, no matter how much she peered, she didn't see me (I stopped for a moment to see what would happen).
     I informed her of my presence and she gave me a relieved-but-slightly-judgmental laugh and went about her day. I am both relieved to know that there are such nice people in my community and stressed about how in five seconds someone was able to recognize that the baby was alone and scout out the area.

     A Seattle talent agency was in town yesterday, having auditions. They represent talent ages 5 - 25, which means both Wyatt and I were out of their acceptable range. This is too bad because I wanted to rock their world with a killer slam-poetry recital and re-enactment of my favorite scenes from The Bourne Identity and Zoolander. Maybe next time.
     On that note: I've watched very little American Idol. Maybe three or four times, and never a whole episode. I'd love to go to the auditions and when Steven and JLo and Blackguywithglasses ask me what I am going to sing, just start reciting some poetry. Comic gold.

     I think that's all.  

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