A Tough Nut to Crack
Well, I did it. I scared the hell out of my son for the first time this week. Not on purpose, of course. I'm kind of surprised, because I didn't realize kids that young knew what fear was, especially when he's been brought up in a very happy home full of unicorns and puppies and endless supplies of zwiebeck. Zwieback. Whatever. Anyway, here's the deal.
I was playing with him on Sunday, holding him up while he bounced on his little legs, babbling about whatever happened to be in his little baby head. I initially thought it was a discourse on medical advancements since the industrial revolution, but it was actually a sonnet about his love for the cats. So he's there, babbling and bouncing, and I'm laughing along with him, the perfect picture of Norman Rockwell bliss. Then all of a sudden, he pulls a Randy Saveage and atomic knee-drops me in the jewels.
I let out a howl that would have made John Kerry proud, and my face must have contorted into something resembling an un-anesthtesised Satan getting a catheter. Aidan immedietly started crying and got all red-faced, looking at me like I had horns growing out of my head and a tongue of fire. I felt horrible-- his mommy wanted to take him, but I insisted that I wanted to hold him and tell him it was ok. It was wierd-- even though I had scared him, he still wanted to hug me and snuggle for comfort. I guess that's the power of the parent-- no matter what the cause, children can always find comfort there, which in itself is comforting because it means a) I didn't scar him for life, and b) I actually am a decent father.
Another new development on the food front-- Aidan discovered last night that, like the cats, he rather enjoys tuna fish. Again, it's astounding to me to see the similarities between myself and him, because as a young child I too liked tuna fish. Then again, maybe all babies do-- I'm kind of flying blind here. The only part he didn't like was when he got a bit of celery; then he choked it up and spit it on to the carpet, looking slightly betrayed.
Can't blame him there.... again, amazing similarity to me.
I was playing with him on Sunday, holding him up while he bounced on his little legs, babbling about whatever happened to be in his little baby head. I initially thought it was a discourse on medical advancements since the industrial revolution, but it was actually a sonnet about his love for the cats. So he's there, babbling and bouncing, and I'm laughing along with him, the perfect picture of Norman Rockwell bliss. Then all of a sudden, he pulls a Randy Saveage and atomic knee-drops me in the jewels.
I let out a howl that would have made John Kerry proud, and my face must have contorted into something resembling an un-anesthtesised Satan getting a catheter. Aidan immedietly started crying and got all red-faced, looking at me like I had horns growing out of my head and a tongue of fire. I felt horrible-- his mommy wanted to take him, but I insisted that I wanted to hold him and tell him it was ok. It was wierd-- even though I had scared him, he still wanted to hug me and snuggle for comfort. I guess that's the power of the parent-- no matter what the cause, children can always find comfort there, which in itself is comforting because it means a) I didn't scar him for life, and b) I actually am a decent father.
Another new development on the food front-- Aidan discovered last night that, like the cats, he rather enjoys tuna fish. Again, it's astounding to me to see the similarities between myself and him, because as a young child I too liked tuna fish. Then again, maybe all babies do-- I'm kind of flying blind here. The only part he didn't like was when he got a bit of celery; then he choked it up and spit it on to the carpet, looking slightly betrayed.
Can't blame him there.... again, amazing similarity to me.
posted by Clueless Dad | 8:25 AM
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