Sunday, January 20, 2013

Punched in the eye

My baby punched me in the eye the other day. Straight up punched me in the eye like a thug. My wife and I don't believe in spanking, but in that moment I was considering it... but I didn't.

What made me so mad was I know he punched me on purpose. He was mad at me and he looked me right in the face before he did it. He's been hitting a lot lately and my wife and I can't figure it out. We don't hit him. He's not around other kids that much, so I don't think he's picking it up elsewhere. I honestly think he's just coming up with it himself. Maybe it's evolutionary. If a sabertooth tiger was creeping up on you in cave man days, you had to smack that sucker or your caveman days were over. Perhaps hitting is an instinct that has served mankind well, but it's pretty annoying when it manifests itself in my previously adorable son.

For a split second I almost felt like I needed to defend myself. If someone just walked up to you in the street and punched you in the eye, you'd fight them back. It was instinct. But then the middle-class, liberal, I've-been-to-college part of my brain kicked in and I gave him a timeout instead. When I had cooled off and had a chance to think, I would've felt pretty hypocritical if I had tried to teach him not to hit by hitting him. On the other hand, “I'm going to give you such a long timeout!” doesn't sound nearly as fearsome as some of the other things parents threaten, but you can say it all day long in the supermarket and no one's going to call Child Protective Services on you.

Maybe he's a mean-spirited little baby, or possibly it comes out of frustration because he's a little slow at talking and gets frustrated because he can't express himself. We were reading about it and when babies get really frustrated they start biting, so in addition to hitting, we've got that to look forward to. Some people say you have to bite your kid back, but that is obviously stupid.

My wife and I feel like Dr. Frankenstein must have felt. We've created something, and he is quite possibly going to destroy us.

Does anyone know where he is learning the hitting stuff if he's not getting it from us? Please let me know what you think.

Sunday, January 13, 2013

Germ-of-the-week Club OR A Very Fatty Christmas

December was the worst, am I right? First, our son got a new illness each week for the first three weeks of December. He's started playing with some kids his age once a week, and it's kind of like a germ-of-the-week club. The first week he had croup, which means he was coughing like a 108-year-old man who smokes a carton of unfiltered tar cigarettes a day. He almost had to go to the emergency room, but instead the doctor prescribed him a nebulizer, which is a kind of baby hookah.

The second week he had a stomach virus that made him puke every 15 minutes like clockwork. He slept in our bed so that we could ideally catch the puke in a bowl, but of course it didn't work that way and all three of us ended up covered in it.

Week 3 brought a super-cold and more than enough snot, and in Week 4 we tried to catch up on sleep and put everything in the washing machine.

Next, my computer broke, which was hard at first. I couldn't blog, I couldn't play Star Craft, I couldn't read about celebrities (I had to learn that Harry Styles and Taylor Swift broke up from someone at work). It was a good thing because I realized I have a problem with wasting time on my computer. I was astonished at all the things I got done in my computer's absence. I kept telling my wife, “This is great!” and listing off all the things I had done. She said, “You know you can just turn it off whenever you want, right?”

And lastly came all the disappointments of trying to be healthy in December, the fatty-est month of the year. After awhile I just gave up trying. Here are some examples of what I mean:

Exibit A - I went to a place called “The Rib Crib” and ate a sandwich called “The Pig Man.” Even my wife, who has promised before the Great State of New Mexico and a religious leader to love, honor and cherish me, looked at me like, “Seriously?”

Exhibit B - A mysterious person claiming to be our neighbor brought us a giant plate piled high with fudge, cookies, brownies, rice crispy treats and everything else that is right with the world. My wife said, “Don't eat them, they might be poisoned!” but I said, “I don't care! Don't they look delicious? Just call 911 if anything happens to me and they can pump my stomach. Google 'arsenic,' too.”

Exhibit C – On Christmas Eve I had an extremely vivid dream about eating a breakfast burrito. The egg to potato ratio was perfect, it had sausage, bacon and chorizo and it was smothered in just the right amount of green chile and cheddar cheese. My wife woke me up and said, “Hey, it's Christmas morning. Come participate in the magic of Christmas with your son.”

And I said, “You guys start without me. I want to keep dreaming about this burrito.”

Any ideas on how to stop using the computer/internet so much? Please leave a comment.