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Knock On Wood

I just called Serge at work to describe to him in detail the size of the thing I just suctioned from Henry’s nose.  Does this officially make me a Stay-At-Home-Mom?

I’ll readily admit I find no greater satisfaction than sucking boogers out of my kid’s head.  Is this weird?  Because I also like to pop zits. Serge had a cyst-type thing on his chest once and he nearly had to handcuff me to the bed at night to keep me from inching over and having a stab at that thing.  Ooooh, the satisfaction…

But I digress.

What I wanted to tell you is this kid?  This baby boy of mine?  He is absolutely lovely.  I was pretty sure I was in for it when Violet turned out to be such a good baby but I think Henry is edging her out of the running for best baby of all time.  Does all this positive talk annoy you?  Is it on par with the moms who tell you how sure they are that their child is absolutely smarter than other children his or her age?  I don’t mean to sound like that.  And really, positivity is extremely uncharacteristic of me.  Did you read my Being Pregnant column?  Oy vey!  The kvetching over there would make your eyes burn.

Speaking of Being Pregnant.  Did you want to see me push a human being from my lady parts?  BOOM.

This little guy, he just eats and sleeps and poops.  Oh oh!  And he’s starting to smile.  He cries when he’s hungry and that’s about it.  I feed him every three hours around the clock.  If he can be said to have a fault it is that he poops like a cancer-stricken old man placed on a liquid diet in his last days alive.  The grunting and groaning and flailing and then the release of what sounds like a gallon of breast milk poop into that teeny tiny diaper is a bit disconcerting.  The upside of all this is that  the recovery from pooping is usually a good two or three hour nap.

And I’m rewarded with the best smile west of the Mississippi.  So poop away, my son.  Poop away.

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