Over the past few days, Grant has developed a considerable problem with gas. This has manifested itself in various ways, including but not limited to spewing everything he's eaten in the past five weeks onto whatever and whoever is within a six foot radius. Erin has noted that despite his lack of genetic relation to his daddy, it is obvious that he holds a connection to yours truly, given that I, on occasion, have proven flatulant.
Witness this picture of spewage from last night. (I think it's uncanny how much this looks like a still from the Zapruder film. Nice camera work, dear!) Please note that not only has Grant royally fouled himself and his clothing, but he has also fouled my shirt. (I have highlighted the three areas of spewage -- Grant's face, Grant's neck folds and shirt, and my shirt.) Let it be noted that this outfit had been on him for approximately 35 seconds when this incident occurred. I had just changed him following a similar incident. Grant's room is quickly becoming known as the "vomitorium," therefore we're trying a different formula and some different sleeping arrangements in his crib to try and help the little dude digest rather than eject.
In other happenings, I have become increasingly aware of a new form of communication developing over the past month between Erin and myself. In almost five years of marriage, we have learned how to discuss issues in a civilized manor, such that I can now safely say to her things like, "Dear, I'd appreciate it if you'd move your dishes from the office down to the kitchen." And similarly she can say things like, "I don't know what you ate for lunch today, but could you please take it somewhere else." These exchanges go fairly smoothly most of the time.
Witness this picture of spewage from last night. (I think it's uncanny how much this looks like a still from the Zapruder film. Nice camera work, dear!) Please note that not only has Grant royally fouled himself and his clothing, but he has also fouled my shirt. (I have highlighted the three areas of spewage -- Grant's face, Grant's neck folds and shirt, and my shirt.) Let it be noted that this outfit had been on him for approximately 35 seconds when this incident occurred. I had just changed him following a similar incident. Grant's room is quickly becoming known as the "vomitorium," therefore we're trying a different formula and some different sleeping arrangements in his crib to try and help the little dude digest rather than eject.
In other happenings, I have become increasingly aware of a new form of communication developing over the past month between Erin and myself. In almost five years of marriage, we have learned how to discuss issues in a civilized manor, such that I can now safely say to her things like, "Dear, I'd appreciate it if you'd move your dishes from the office down to the kitchen." And similarly she can say things like, "I don't know what you ate for lunch today, but could you please take it somewhere else." These exchanges go fairly smoothly most of the time.
Since Grant's birth, I have noticed that we've found an unlikely new conduit for these conversations -- Grant. In an effort to stimulate our young son, we frequently talk with him. I've noticed myself saying things like, "Grant, do you see that object over there next to that rather expensive piece of electronics? That's a bowl. Do you see what's in the bowl? That's right. It's a quart of milk and the remains of mommy's breakfast. Do you think that's where that bowl belongs? I don't either." Similarly I've heard Erin say things like, "Daddy stinks, doesn't he Grant? You sure wish he'd go out in the yard or downstairs or somewhere else, don't you, Grant?" In this way, Grant has provided a rather sly way of saying what might be construed as insulting things to each other without the risk of causing a confrontation. The trick is making sure the recipient of such commentary is not too far, but not too close, to Grant at the time. It works flawlessly and has ushered in a new era of openness between Erin and I. Just another of the benefits of having a small, unaware third party in the house.
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