Sweet Baby – Week 19

How long am I going to do these weekly updates? As long as there are cute pictures to share. So, you know, till he’s 12. I got reeel, reeeel ugly at 12 and I hear the ugly, she is passed down through the mother.

As Fergie would say: Checkitout!

See the thing is, I’m posting every day. Maybe you noticed? So I have no fantastic revelations to share TODAY that have not already been shared this week. Y’all already know about the rain, the boots, the elevators, the sleeping, the not sleeping, the laughing. I bought Vitamin D at Superstore. It was half the price of the Vitamin D at London Drugs. There’s my tip. I have out-mundaned myself.

One thing I might not have mentioned is how funny it is when I talk with my mouth full. If you’re a baby. If you’re a baby named Trombone, it is very funny when I talk with my mouth full. In a couple of years we’ll have to convince him it is not funny or appropriate but for now, I take my laughs where I can get ’em. I’m Rob Schneider like that.

This week also saw the advent of the loud – LOUD! – grunting noise. Imagine you have been eating nothing but cheese for a week. Say there is a revolution and you stockpiled cheese – you thought you were being so clever because you love cheese but by day 5 you’re damn sick of it. Stupid cheese. Your insides are all clogged and your farts smell like the cave in France where the Roquefort grows. Because you are alone, you moan, loudly, to express your discontent with post-revolution society and your intense intestinal distress. That’s what Trombone sounds like.

Oh yes, it can be frightening.

But since he has no other symptoms of post-revolution cheese overconsumption or other illness (and I refuse to google lest he suddenly become afflicted with a 17 letter incurable disease of the outer colon), I must chalk it up to vocal chord experimentation.

Saint Aardvark and I prefer the shrieking because at least it’s happier sounding. And when we’re out in public and he shrieks, people look and say, “Oh! A happy baby!” but when he grunts, no one looks. Actually you know what the grunting sounds like? It sounds like Elvis pushing out that 45 lb fetus. Which, in retrospect, is probably a toddler, no?

I’m sorry. I can’t stop thinking about it.

And now? I have TV to catch up on. This DaBloPo’ing is taking up my valuable evenings.