We’ve created a (cookie) monster.

Saturday night Sakya decided to bake cookies for our family. Normally this means she eats 1 or 2 and I get the rest, which I’m totally cool with. Now that the tiny human is around, whenever we eat anything, much less a delicious cookie, B whines and wants a bite, so naturally I had to share my chocolate chip cookie with him. He’s quite selfish in that regard.

We try to limit the unhealthy snacks that B gets, which I believe was our first mistake. Despite his lack of fine motor skills and limited cognitive thinking, I see a devious little evil mastermind behind those baby blues. Think Stewie from the Family Guy without the strong desire to murder is mother.

The lone cookie sat on his high chair tray. He sat and stared at it for a moment, not blinking, but pondering his next move. He sits back and takes a sip of milk, checks his surroundings and takes a deep breath. And that’s when the attack comes. Not from the front, but from the side using a coordinated attack pattern that General George S. Patton would be proud of. Now that B has had his first taste of cookie, it seems as though he longs for its taste. And I’m not talking the sissy Twilight vampirery way. I’m talking zombie’s want to eat your brain type stuff.

***Side Note*** Quick thank you to Mr. Henson for creating “Cookie Monster”. It might be easier to feed kids fruits if he would have created “Apple Monster”. Just sayin…

The next day, there are still 3 or 4  cookies left. Sakya and I like to enjoy a snack before bed and we took the cookies back to the bedroom and leave them on the nightstand. While having some down time with B, he falls asleep in our bed so we decide to leave him there for his nap and go to the living room. After about 30 minutes we hear some rustling back in the bedroom, but figure it’s just B getting more comfortable. When he wakes up he yells until we pick him up for his next activity. Not hearing anything we assume he is still asleep.Another 5 minutes goes by and we hear another peep so we go and check on him. We find this:

That is an empty plate of cookies and a very happy toddler picking chocolate chip cookies off our bed. I have never seen a child eat so quickly. This was payback for all the bananas and pears we’ve made him eat. He was striking while the iron was hot. Like a shark (or vampire) he smelled blood in the water and attacked.

 

Watch your back Edward Cullen.

Bath Toy Destruction

Don’t worry… I promise you this isn’t another post about B pooping in the tub. But it seems bath time got the best of me again.

Before B was born, Sakya and I had separate bathrooms. She used the master bath and I was sent packing to the guest bath. This was fine with me. I was able to accomplish all the manly things that needed to be done. Manscaping, washing of masculine areas and most importantly deep thinking was done in my own private realm of  peace and tranquility. Baby comes along and the serenity and harmony of my man-room was invaded like the beaches of Normandy.

Toys. A lot of toys. Toys in drawers, toys on floors, toys in closets and most importantly toys in the bathtub. If you were to glance into my tub it looks like that cast from Fantasia and Mr. Hooper’s Store had a mass suicide attempt. Mickey, Donald, Elmo and Cookie Monster are face down in a shallow pool of baby body wash and tearless shampoo.

B’s favorite toy, however, is a Weeble Wobble duck that floats and stays upright at all times. B unleashes Poseidon’s fury on this thing. Plenty of splashing, buckets of water, and an extra loofah have all been incorporated into sinking this toy without luck. It will just not sink or tip over, much to the delight of B. How ironic.

Skip to an hour after B gets out of the bath. Its finally my turn to take a shower. I tiptoe into the shower like I’m avoiding a minefield at Guantanamo Bay, I kick Goofy to the side, hang the Big Bird wash cloth on the bar and get down to business. There’s veritable who’s who of Nickelodeon characters surrounding my feet.  I wash essential body parts, shave my face, possibly sing a song on two and start to wash my hair. Obviously any grown man shampoo has been removed from my shower so I am left scrubbing away with Kermit Foaming body gel and Johnson’ s and Johnson’s Sensitive Scalp Shampoo. I normally leave the shower smelling like a mixture of Hello Kitty and Teddy Rumpskin.

Eyes closed tight and washing away, the unsinkable duck makes in appearance. I step forward to wash the soap from my hair, bump into the bubble making machine, step on the Weeble Wobble duck and:

I have opened up negotiations with Sakya for master bath time. Main bargaining chips include the Caillou Bath Crayons and the Sponge-Bob Submarine®.

I DO NOT have the X Factor

Quick back-story:

1.) I am a horrible singer

2.) I like to sing

3.) I do not sing in public…. Ever

4.) I like Disney movies

5.) Consequently I like Disney Movie soundtracks

Now that the formalities are out of the way, here’s a quick insight into the life of gridlock with a toddler.

Occasionally I will pick B up from the babysitter. Usually Sakya picks him up, but every now and then dad and tiny human get to roll together.  For the most part B occupies himself in the backseat. Checks out the surroundings, kicks his feet or babbles on our 15 minute drive home. In case you didn’t know, toddlers have the attention span of a pre-schooler with fun-dip and a Barney episode. So of course a traffic jam is the worst possible senario.

Gridlock. I’m talking like 10 car pile up, bio-hazardous material spilled on the highway, OJ Simpson car chase gridlock. Not moving. After 10 minutes of not moving B is getting antsy. At first there are little whimpers, followed by whining, followed by screams that sound like a 12 year old who hugged Justin Bieber and is never bathing again. This is not good.

Two things calm B down pretty quickly, The freaking Wiggles (see earlier post) and singing. Since I’m all out of Jeff, Murray and the rest of the merry gang, I throw on some Disney tunes on Pandora and begin to rock out. This worked for about 2 1/2 minutes.

I try the singing without really moving my mouth; not working. I try singing every 10 or so words; not working. I check my surroundings and start belting out Bear Necessities ; of course, this works.

At this point I’m getting into it. I mean The Circle of Life comes on and you have to do the opening African chant, right? B is laughing hysterically, I completely forget that we are stuck in traffic and my favorite Disney song Never Had a Friend Like Me comes on.

I am dancing, singing, doing my best Robin Williams impersonation and I look out my window. 5 teenage boys are filming me with iPhones and getting more enjoyment out of me signing than B. I look at them. Flip them off and continue signing. Wait till you have kids you little shits. You’ll be signing Hakuna Matata and it won’t be nearly as good.

Also I believe me singing is somewhere on youtube, but I have yet to find it. If you do, let me know.

Who needs sleep?

B has always been a great sleeper, so luckily I don’t have to deal with this very often. We put him down around 8 o’clock every night and the majority of the time he sleeps through the night. The above image does, however, depict the sleeping arrangements on the rare occasion that the tiny human does sleep with mom and dad. Every now and then we’ll all “nap” together as one big happy family.

Before the baby came along, I would be knocked out like Joseph Gordon Levitt; Inception style. Sleep inside of sleep, dreams within dreams. Unicorns, ponies, balloons and butterflies. Now: not so much. When the baby and dog wants a nap with dad, I have fingers in my eye sockets, knees in the lower lumbar region and feet playing hacky sack with my testicles. There’s also the fear of moving even an inch in case I disturb the kiddo from his siesta, because no one wants a sleep deprived toddler.

A man once said, “I am not a smart man, but I know what love is”. No kidding buddy. Because only someone who truly loves their family would allow a  sleeping arrangement like the one pictured above to happen. I’m not sure if I radiate the most heat, or if it’s my wonderful fatherly aroma, or just the fact the right side of the bed attracts objects like moth’s to a light, but it seems like my personal area is the cool place to hang out. I can picture B texting the dog, ‘party in dad’s spot on the bed tonight, bring your green hat’. Not cool bro, not cool at all.

For those of you that know me personally, you know that my body size would limit sleeping in a 3′ x 3′ square. I’m roughly 6’3”  – 200 (ish) pounds and to top it off I need to lay in a perfect position to fall asleep. Dog jammed into my feet, baby drooling on my head is NOT a perfect position. The sheer fact that I purchased a king sized bed from Ikea and successfully assembled said bed with Ikea directions, should allow me as much sleeping room as I want. Seriously, go hang out on mom’s side, its really nice and has great views of the rest of the room.

But, alas, I give give up. I can move the baby towards the middle of the bed over and over, scissor kick the dog in the head repeatedly, but they still gravitate towards me in the end. I’m fighting a losing battle. Sakya, B and the dog are dreaming away and I am left stuck with my thoughts as I stare at the wall from my tiny piece of Serta. In actuality I am pretty blessed. I have 3 living things that love me enough that they want to be draped over me amidst their slumber.

Now, if only I could free this arm just a bit to Google on my iPhone “contortionist classes” and “Ambien”.