Captain’s Log. Daddy Chronicles. Diaper Date 1568. Quick entry/discovery. Just had one of those deja vu moments. The diaper dweller is only 7 months old. I shouldn’t be too critical, but I thought he would be crawling by the time my break was over – an obvious testament to my rearing. Alas, he cannot. He also can’t talk. He is currently bashing one of his toys on the ground repeatedly to the rhythm of whatever prehistoric grunt he is uttering (hopefully, he isn’t casting a spell on me or cursing me out).
And that is when it hit me.
My son is Non. He is the hulking villain from Superman II. You know the one who can’t talk, can’t quite fly right, but is the strongest. He is almost like a
human Kryptonian wookie.
My son? He grunts. He bashes. He
destroys redecorates. He will pull himself up on your leg and gnaw on your knee (with the two good teeth he has). And smiles about it all.
While the eldest is playing with a school bus and planning a roadtrip to Africa (I don’t have the heart to tell her you can’t get there by bus.), he is bashing toys and rolling to the dog to pull her ears. All the while, plotting a way to get to her school bus.
He is pure baby evil.
He pulls his sister’s hair, picks his nose with his middle finger, pees on you when you change his diaper, gouges your eyes when you hold him, and (the worst) wakes at 2 a.m. and wants to play.
This animated antagonist can’t talk, can’t walk, can’t crawl, but communicates effectively. He rules with brute strength and grunts.
Of course I jest and exaggerate. He is a pretty cute kid when he is sleeping, or laughing. He is just trying to come to terms with the world around him. Aren’t we all?
And now he beckons me once more, so I go.
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