The On/Off Switch
My Wife was burdened all afternoon and evening by grading final exams. So it fell to me to keep The Little Buccaneer entertained for most of that time. We were out in the late morning doing errands and, having played all morning, he naturally fell asleep in the car seat, like a good boy should. We laid him out on his Spongebob futon while we ate lunch. Sometime around 12:30 he popped up, rubbed his eyes and grinned. Then he stomped on his personal accelerator and left daddy in the dust, and the legos, and the dinosaur puzzles, and plastic turtles until around 6:00 PM when he climbed into his highchair and yelled, "Hasenpfeffer! Where is my HASENPFEFFER? Bring it! Now!"
Well, he doesn't know, but he got chicken and yams instead. One day, he'll figure out that it wasn't hasenpfeffer. Hopefully, he won't resent us too heavily for that. Anyway, he inhaled most of it, and hurled the rest across the dining room, with a huge grin, laughing through an orange mouthful of yams. Then he wanted down, in no uncertain terms; crying through that same mouthful of yams. We released him from the bondage of his tray table and put him on the floor and away he went, and again I tried to keep up. I actually managed to do that and eat an excellent beef bourgogne My Wife had made earlier. Oh boy. We put Shark Tale on the dvd player and Daring Dayton stopped for a few moments. Only a few. Somehow, we corralled him long enough to give him a bath, after which he ran naked but for his bike helmet through the house, yelling and screaming when I caught him and took him back to his room to get into pajamas.
Ten minutes later, before we could even get a bottle between his teeth, he was as asleep as anyone can be; sitting in my lap snoring to beat the band. His off switch had been hit and he was off. This is where I deeply envy him. I can't switch myself on and off like that. In the morning, I fade into consciousness like a broken reostat At night, I sometimes can't keep my eyes shut no matter how tired I am. Daring Dayton merely rubs his face one or twice and shuts his eyes and within a minute, he's out. Same thing in reverse when he wakes up. This leads me into questions of why I don't do that anymore. Sadly, there's no time for it now. Gotta work for a few miunutes. More next time.
Well, he doesn't know, but he got chicken and yams instead. One day, he'll figure out that it wasn't hasenpfeffer. Hopefully, he won't resent us too heavily for that. Anyway, he inhaled most of it, and hurled the rest across the dining room, with a huge grin, laughing through an orange mouthful of yams. Then he wanted down, in no uncertain terms; crying through that same mouthful of yams. We released him from the bondage of his tray table and put him on the floor and away he went, and again I tried to keep up. I actually managed to do that and eat an excellent beef bourgogne My Wife had made earlier. Oh boy. We put Shark Tale on the dvd player and Daring Dayton stopped for a few moments. Only a few. Somehow, we corralled him long enough to give him a bath, after which he ran naked but for his bike helmet through the house, yelling and screaming when I caught him and took him back to his room to get into pajamas.
Ten minutes later, before we could even get a bottle between his teeth, he was as asleep as anyone can be; sitting in my lap snoring to beat the band. His off switch had been hit and he was off. This is where I deeply envy him. I can't switch myself on and off like that. In the morning, I fade into consciousness like a broken reostat At night, I sometimes can't keep my eyes shut no matter how tired I am. Daring Dayton merely rubs his face one or twice and shuts his eyes and within a minute, he's out. Same thing in reverse when he wakes up. This leads me into questions of why I don't do that anymore. Sadly, there's no time for it now. Gotta work for a few miunutes. More next time.
posted by Harry at 10:20 AM
4 Comments:
I remember those days: my eldest's fave foods were anything orange. Still are, actually. I attribute that to the fact that I had a slice of pumpkin pie the morning of her birthday.
Paula, I am encouraged by the example you set of having survived those days. This was a particularly spectacular display of infant energy. As a colleague said, there are reasons why people do this in their Twenties. Wow.
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Hmm. We drove home in the Jeep with the squawling mystery baby and blasted Born To Be Bad. Now he has a rock band.
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