One week ago today, our son started spitting his food out at us.
It now happens everytime we feed him. I think this is an "exerting his independence" kind of thing because if I give him something to occupy his hands, he will forget that he was fighting the food police and eat every bite.
However, if he is not entertained, not otherwise occupied, the food comes back out in a spray that covers the length of the living room. Like a powerful sprinkler. Or an out-of-control power washer.
Minutes before his birthday party began last Saturday, I had to change my clothes because he sprayed his baby food all across the front of my party dress.
I'm hoping this is something he grows out of, like the vomiting phase he went through or like when he used to pee on us when we changed his diaper. Thankfully, those times have passed...however...we have entered yet another phase as well...
the "take off the diaper" phase.
Yes, he has begun taking off his diaper, always at the worst possible times. Here is a post about the first time he did this, Diapers and Diabetes.
But that was nothing compared to two nights ago.
Max was in his pack n' play, looking at his books and talking and laughing, holding his stuffed monkey. My husband was making dinner and I was picking up the tiny messes all around the house.
My husband yells, "Dinner's ready!" and he takes our plates to the table. When I go into the den to get Max, I notice he has one hand between his legs and the other hand is freely and joyfully throwing little pieces of something into the air, like when Mary Tyler Moore throws her hat up in the opening of The Mary Tyler Moore Show.
He's so happy, having such an amazing time! He's laughing, smiling, grinning from ear to ear. What could be so fun?
As I get closer...the smell creeps into my nostrils...what the?...I see little brown balls of poop all over his pack n' play...his diaper, removed from his behind and thrown with reckless abandon to the side, is empty.
I'm not sure how long he had been sitting there tugging on his weiner and throwing poop balls around the room, but it was long enough to have poop under his fingernails, all over his legs, all over his books, his stuffed monkey and Tigger, and to have it smashed into the pad of half the pack n' play.
Well, forget about eating a hot dinner. Ah, a vanishing dream...
Instead, we rinsed the big pieces of poop off Max in one bathtub, then took him to the other bathtub to immerse and scrub. While I cleaned Pooperman, my husband picked up poop and cleaned the pad. Then, I threw his monkey and Tigger in the washing machine and disinfected his books.
By the time we were finished, our food was cold and nobody felt like eating, except Max, who was starving from his Olympic discus throwing and bathtub freestyle.
For Max's dinner, we decided to begin teaching him to use a sippy cup. Our pediatrician told us to get one with a straw because it will be easier for Max to use in the beginning.
But we couldn't get the dang thing to work! How is our one-yr old supposed to figure it out if his thirty-something parents can't do it?
We both sucked and sucked on that damn straw, not getting a single drop of milk out of it. I must have spent 10 minutes taking it apart and putting it back together. It might as well have been a carburetor.
I handed it over to my husband, who spent another 10 minutes trying to suck a freaking drop out of that thing. We both have college degrees. Hell, I have two college degrees. And yet neither one of us could figure out how to suck through the straw of a damn sippy cup.
Finally, after 20 minutes, my husband took the straw apart, put it back together, bit the straw and sucked at the same time, and the milk began to flow. Who the hell would think to bite and suck at the same time?
We gave it to my son and he figured it out in 20 seconds.
So much for college degrees.