The boys are sick again. Maybe. It could be teething. All I know is they’re both sneezing, cranky, have runny noses and Wyatt looks like Jim Carroll before he cleaned up. Wait… Did Jim Carroll ever clean up?
Wyatt has nearly a full mouth of teeth already. He may also have a few of Boone’s. Plus, their snot is clear. For you non-parents, I know that sounds like I’m just offering gross details, but snot color is important. Green or yellow snot means an illness. Or your child has been snorting lines of Kool-Aid mix again.
If it does turn out to be another bug, I’m going to do my best to avoid catching it. The last one incapacitated me for weeks. After I post this, I’m purchasing a Hazmat suit and maybe a full-body condom and possibly a trough of Lysol. It may frighten the boys, but it’s for the best. “Come here, son. Give Darth Vader a hug.”
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 29 years since my last confession… Maybe longer. I can’t remember. I only went that one time after confirmation and, even then, I made up some random sin to tell the priest. But, I digress. My sin, Father, is that I have been eating my babies’ teething biscuits… I know I’ve been away from the Church for quite some time, but I’m pretty sure snickering is not a part of confession.
My wife and I have been trying to get in shape. We joined one of those fitness boot camp things… Yes, that’s why I’m limping. We’ve also been tracking our calories, trying to eat better. I haven’t had anything sweet in over a month and it’s getting to me. I mean I used to live on sugar and caffeine… No, I haven’t tried putting ice cream on a communion wafer… It’s your guilty pleasure? Seems a strange use of the body of Christ, but okay. Father, if we could get back to me. Thanks.
So, we forgot we had these teething biscuits and the boys’ teeth came in fine. One day, I was looking for a between-meal snack for them and I found the box. I bit into one, just to see if it would be too hard for them to chew. Father, it tasted like animal crackers. Like a brick of animal crackers. If God didn’t want me to eat them, why did he make them taste like animal crackers?… Yes, I bet they’re great with ice cream. Father, please.
They come in little sealed bags of two. I split one, giving each boy a half, then I ate the other. Next time, I gave the boys just a quarter each. The last time, I ate both biscuits while they played in the living room. What am I to do, Father?… No, they’re not hard to find… Just down at the Albertson’s… I don’t have any on me. Y’know what? This was a bad idea. No, I don’t want any ice cream… You’re creepy.
Our week away from L.A. was good but, as with most things attempted with babies, not entirely relaxing. Wyatt’s teething really ramped up and reached a crescendo Friday night. My wife and I did our best to calm him to no avail. He basically cried inconsolably until 4:30 am on Saturday. His brother Boone slept soundly through the whole affair. The little fucker.
We reached two milestones on the trip. First, Boone realized when he’s on his belly, he needs only to push with his arms and legs to raise himself up into a crawling position. As of yet, there is no actual crawling because he’s still getting over the sheer absurdity of the fact that he can hoist himself up on all fours. The first time he did it, he froze and looked at me like, “Holy living fuck! Pop, look at this! Did you know you could do this? This is a goddamn game-changer, old man!”
The other milestone is that we have transitioned to actual solid food. They’ve had Cheerios and little bits of things here and there, but last weeks, they went entire days eating nothing but little bits of chicken, beans, avocado, cheese… basically, we fed them a Burrito Supreme one ingredient at a time.
Experts say the best way to raise non-finicky babies is to let them eat what you’re eating when you’re eating it. So, we nibbled on chicken while also giving it to the boys. Same with the beans and cheese, etc. We did that as often as possible, which is why on Saturday after our sleepless night, the boys dined on a 2006 Tolosa Genache Noir and a heap of sweet, sweet Columbian blow.
My boys, Wyatt and Boone, just turned 8 months. They are finally sleeping through the night fairly regularly, except for the nights when their teeth really bother them. And last night, Boone let loose such a deluge of piss that he drenched himself and woke up none too happy about it. The way he was crying, I’m sure our neighbors thought we were trying to set him on fire. I tried to explain to him that, if he didn’t chill out, no one would believe him if he ever did actually catch fire.
I feel no great pride in the fact that his desire to share his misery with those around him at any cost is a trait he got from me. So begins my legacy.
