The Kid Stinks, People. Capital P. Capital U.
Posted on November 14, 2012
How about a haphazard entry about nothing in particular, a little of this and a little of that kind of update? No wildly heady themes, no symbolism or sentiment. Just the thoughts that are rattling around up there in my noggin, yeah? Good.
So, good god my kid stinks. Doesn’t matter how much we bathe him or what we dunk him in or which product we soap him down with, the stench that clings to Jonah lives on! The second I get him out of the bath and feed him for the first time Jonah decides it is giggly smile time and he lets the formula bubble out of his mouth, down his chin and into his neck rolls. Those neck rolls are like the “other side” as they are unreachable by mere humans. The only hint that surfaces so you know something has found its way down there is the distinctive smell that quickly wafts up after the spill. Like putrid sour cheese. Like a very pungent sour bleu cheese. God help me. I’ve almost decided to stop kissing his face because I just can’t take the funk factor. I can’t! I swear I remember people telling me there was nothing like the smell of a baby, that it was delicious … what the fuck were they talking about? Oh, I see. You like smell of curdled cheese vomit. Makes sense. You quack. Babies smell bad. Or at least my mini Huyghebaert does. And, if I am the only mother suffering then someone needs to step up and tell me. Also providing me with a problem solver would also be appreciated because I am not above leaving my kid out on the balcony next to the cat’s litter from now on. My nose and olfactory dignity is too bloody important to me.
All right, topic two! I had a waking nightmare this afternoon while thinking about the very near future. At first I was thinking about Jo being three and a half months old already, then about baby proofing and then about our old condo in Kelowna. Here’s what you need to know about that: our condo was a two bed, two bathroom space extravaganza. And, I gave it up. To live the big city life and to follow my big dreams about a fantastic career! Well shit. Wasn’t so much planning on the living, breathing meatloaf that escaped my loins. Love him, but not planning on that detour. So I’m lying there on my bed next to the hand-sucking-gurgling meat lump and my mind starts to whirl. My mind is exactly like me. Because my mind is me. She’s a bit of a freak-and-flip-out-go-bat-shit-crazy-on-your-ass kind of gal. I love her. But anyway she begins and it sounds like this: Huh. So living in Kelowna was good. Yeah, yeah. Nice place, nice place … big place, lot of good times in that big … two bathroom, extra bedroom … in suite laundry … dishwasher … oh, holy hell … I’LL NEVER HAVE THAT AGAIN! AND I ALREADY HAVE ONE BABY. HE’S HUGE AND HE’LL BE ALL SQUIRMY AND MOVING AROUND SOON AND WE LIVE IN A ONE BEDROOM APARTMENT! I TRADED THAT SPACIOUS GEM FOR THIS EXPENSIVE CITY I CAN’T AFFORD AND MY STUPID HUSBAND WILL PROBABLY INPREGNANT ME AGAIN BECAUSE HE CAN’T CONTROL HIMSELF WHY GOD WHY! So I start pummeling hubby with inane questions about where we are going to rent after he finishes school. My voice is climbing octaves and I am getting all pitchy, talking fast and spitting out question after question and he just calmly walks into the room and says something infuriating like “we will find a place with in suite laundry for you,” with this intolerable air of calm. Making me and my whirly brain look stupid. DAMN HIM. Jonah looks over at me and catches my eyes in their wide alarm and smiles mischievously. And, I just know he’s planning something. Something like conspiring with his future sibling somehow and making a pact that no space will ever be big enough to house the mayhem they plan to unleash. Dastardly kid. Why did I make him so similar to me? At this point I stuck out a witchy-poo finger at him and said, “No more fun. You stop smiling you calculating turd.”
Topic three is short and concise, here it is. I enjoy that my husband and I seem to think double-teaming Jonah while he’s pooping is good parenting. He’s directly in the line of fire and I am on baby wipes and garbage duty. It’s a good system. I just never realised there would be a time in my life where pooping became a group activity.
… and scene.
Thanks for reading.