Things have been mind numbingly boring around here recently, so here’s some pictures of my kid. YOU WILL LOOK AT THEM.
Boo is obsessed with balls, and I blame my mother. She bought him a ball pit last Christmas, and holy Christ, if that thing isn’t set up when we visit on Sundays, MUCH SCREAMING ENSUES. We can’t pass something even vaguely roundish and he’ll yell, “Bawls, Mommy. Bawls!” The red concrete thingies in front of Target are “biiiiig bawls”. The balls on Wipeout are “boom balls,” because, well… People fall off of them, I guess. Balls have become the bane of my existence. It only takes one sneaky demon-ball left out overnight to fell an adult , especially one who can’t see five inches in front of her own fucking face in the morning. Gah.
This kid has some neuroses, for sure. One that has emerged recently is hiding things. Like this:
He loves to take every single book he owns and stuff them in tight little corners. Tight little corners that Mommy sized hands don’t fit into easily. I have to pull the futon away from the wall to dig them out every fricking time he does this. Which happens like, seventeen times a day. No joke.
He’s also obsessed with baby wipes. Leave him a room alone with his diaper caddy for five milliseconds and he’ll pull out a every single baby wipe. To sniff them.
Yeah. He goes batshit over these things. His eyes get huge and round when he inhales their sweet, ass cleansing goodness. He holds each hit for a few seconds, and sighs happily. Then he’s strangely calm for a while. I think Pampers is secretly spiking them with PCP or something. Nothing else can explain his dependency.
And finally, two new teeth have made an appearance in the last week. He’s now the proud owner of his top canines. They’re little fangy, sharp bastards and they’ve made his wee mouth very sore. The cure for that is, of course, ice cream. Lots of it. But so help me God, if he starts sparkling in the sunlight or craving the blood of ungulates, I’m gonna start sharpening my stake.