Wasn't it just the day before last Tuesday?

Subtitle: The Return to the Blog

I'm pretty sure it was the day before last Tuesday where I thought to myself, "Man, I'm tired. I'm just going to take some time off from writing the blog."

Baby boy was three months old.

Three frickin' months old! And now he has chest hair and is fretting about taxes.

Okay, so maybe time hasn't flown that much, but somehow--between the day before last Tuesday and today--7 months passed.

Slagathor (who now also goes by Lo' Dog as a result of a 4-year-old's totally awesome aural misunderstanding of one of his many other nicknames) is now 10-months old. He has 8 teeth, with which he deftly decimates Cheerios, fingers and--much to my total dismay--the occasional nipple. Now that smarts.

He's a crawling, cat-chasing machine that chants, "Mamamamama." Though, to be fair, he usually chants it while staring at the cat. But at least it's looking like his first word won't be the f-bomb, and we're pretty proud of that (plus it still gives me time to clean up my language, and ain't that a fucking relief).

He's also quite recently, suddenly and with no explanation, started sleeping through the night. Which means I now wake up with more energy than Richard Simmons in a tiny-short store.

There is quite likely a direct relationship between this whole sleep thing and return to the blog thing.

So, if he starts waking up again, y'all are totally fu...err...fricked.

At the Halloween party, there were twelve Cookie Monsters. And one Elvis.

Lo' Dog loved his first Christmas. Next year, we may even put gifts in the wrapped boxes!

Peek-a-boo: Take 3,204,622

The Great Toy Experiment

Doggie Rattle: Baby toy or tiny terror? You decide!

Eau de Blaaaaarf

The baby just puked between the couch cushions. Again.

No wonder our house permanently smells like baby cheese.

Slaggy X LIVE! (Pre-recorded)

Dun, dun, duuuuuun!

Here is Slaggy's worldwide premier in a little movie I call Infant Airplane: Playing Baby Roulette. In this particular instance, I did not lose at Baby Roulette (read: I did not end up with a mouthload of baby cheese).

But, we all know it's just a matter of time.

And yes, I do sound like an idiot in the video. My theory is that babies don't smile at your goofy noises, they smile at the ease in which they can turn you into a cooing doofus.

Oops...

Yesterday, I made a day trip without the boy while baby daddy watched little Slaggy. Since I wasn't going to be SM3's primary food source for several hours, and because I was required to be semi-coherent after a sleep deprived night, I indulged in an obscene amount of caffeine.


Apparently, I severely under-estimated the amount of time required for my body to fully process this caffeine and I inadvertently fed the baby a late night knocker latte which resulted in a) a nearly sleepless night and 2) I'm so tired I forget.

Oops.

Note to self...

Do NOT put a freshly fed baby on top of a nice clean pile of laundry. Alright, off to redo some laundry...

Yarrrrrr!

To hell with teaching the little Slaggy X III things like "talking" or "using the bathroom." I mean, really, when will those things ever come in handy in real life?

A sweet pirate impression, on the other hand (hook?), can really get you places!

Guess what Easter Bunny!

I just ate your face! That's what.

Constant Vigilance: It's pointless.

I just got firehosed. Again.

For those of you not in the know, being "firehosed" is the result of the following actions:

1. Having a baby boy.
2. Baby boy destroying his diaper, thereby requiring a swift costume change.
3. Opening up his nice, warm, and incredibly goopy diaper to the cool air.
4. Cool air gracing his baby boy junk.
5. Baby boy deciding that cool air on his junk means, "PEE! NOW! EVERYWHERE*!"

*Everywhere includes, but is not limited to: Your face, his face, the dog's face, the wall, the ceiling, the ceiling of another room, the outfit he is wearing and, most definitely, the outfit you were going to change him in to.



Baby Daddy hasn't been firehosed yet. He thinks this is because he's much more vigilant than I when it comes to covering the baby wang. I think this is because he's been lucky.

"You've got to use the washcloth," he says.

"I do," I say.

"It's all about constant vigilance," he says.

"That's impossible. There is always a moment of vulnerability," I say.

"Constant vigilance," he says.

"You just wait. Karma is so going to kick your ass," I say.

This is when Slaggy X III interjects with a knowing smile followed by, "PPBBBBBLLLLLPPPPBBBBBLLLLL." And because he's a baby with few words and much to say, he emphasized his comment by exploding it out of his diaper, through his pants, and all over Baby Daddy's shirt.

"Constant vigilance," I say.

Lesson learned: Beware of this face.

74 Hours...

Guest post from the new dad:

Momzilla is feeling good and has energy that comes in spurts. She even ventured out to the momma and baby store for some mean deals on momma and baby stuff.

Slaggy X III is 3 days old now. He makes smacking kisses when he’s hungry, smiles before he farts, and can’t get enough of the sacred milkjugs. I think he likes the Talking Heads. And farting.

Weapon X prepares to blow off some steam

The Hound and Cat-dog (or is that Dog-cat?) have adjusted nicely. The Hound seems to know that he has a new little buddy to watch out for.

The napping is world class.

Being a dad is awesome. There’s tons more to say, but awesome pretty much sums it up.


Thanks for all of the well-wishes.