Wednesday, August 01, 2007

 
LIFE BEYOND THUNDERDOME

I've been a parent for almost a week now, and every day things are a little less bewildering. I would have been perfectly happy with an ugly baby, but the kid is a real cutie, and while he tends to demand attention during the wee small hours, during the day he's very easy to manage--a little TOO easy. Maybe I'm in for it down the road.
Several shirts and pants of mine now bear the patina of parenthood, those stains and smears of formula, urine, spit-up, and other gobs of crap that stick to fabric more furiously than red wine. I'm probably getting that continually dazed, sleepy look too. My nicknaming reflex has gone into overdrive, and already I've come up with an army of aliases for my offspring, some highlights being:
--Bud
--Big Guy
--The Wriggler
--Master Blaster
--Lord of the Squirm
--Republican Presidential Candidate Fred Thompson

He earned the 'Master Blaster' tag after making the windows rattle when he took his first poop, and every so often he pulls a repeat performance. I occasionally ask him "Who run Bartertown?!?" prompting head shakes from my tolerant wife.

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