Baby Daddy 40: I No Longer Have Nipples

YES!!! I am posting twice in one month! Hell hath frozen over!! And what am I talking about? Of course, my kiddo. As I may or may not have shared in a previous post, my son is walking and trying to run. The Boy Beast Wonder is kicking ass and taking names. Unfortunately, he has not yet gotten the hang of running. He will start to walk, then run, then fall, then face-plant. Now, when he does, my son will often reach out for something to hold himself up. Adorable, right?

Wrong. Why? Because he reaches out to me. Now don't get me wrong, I am not one of those heartless fathers. The problem is that I am never wearing a shirt. Why, you may ask? Because we keep our house around 72-74 degrees Fahrenheit. That means that I am always sweating. So when my son reaches out for me to save him, he often times will grab my nipples. If I am lucky, he will fall on his face. If I am not, my son will actually grip my nipples in an atomic nipple twister, and then pull himself upright.

This issue has gotten serious enough that, when my son reaches out, I will actually pull-away. I'm sure, on some level, that I am damaging my son's psyche. On some level, I am giving him the deep-seeded daddy issues that will drive him toward getting a tramp-stamp of a butterfly, ass-less chaps, and making his money in tips. At the same time, I DON'T HAVE NIPPLES!

That's right! He has ripped at my chest so much that I just have two callouses for nipples. It looks like I used my chest to play the guitar. I just walked into a frozen room, ripped off my clothes, and began strumming! It looks like I got into some kinky BDSM shit, and was hanging from the ceiling for a while. 50 Shades of Grey ain't got shit on my kid.

What's worse? He even used my nipples to help poo! My son was walking toward me, arms stretched out for me to pick him up. This was early, before I knew to be afraid. Sure enough, my son fell and grabbed my nipples. He righted himself quickly, and I thought that would be it. I was wrong. Suddenly, he grips  down harder, turns his hands, dips his hips, *ugh*, looks up at me, and smiles. Then the smell. That's right, he used an atomic nipple twister on me, so that he could then ready and launch a biological warhead at me. I don't know what was worse - the pain in my nipples, or the pain in my nose. Secret answer "C" - the pain in my soul.

Moral of the Story: My son is walking and my nipples are missing. I will be posting a picture on a milk carton, shortly.

Baby Daddy 39: The Vengeful Pooper

I'm BAAAACK!!!!!! Holy shit was October a helluva month! Between the kiddo growing, several major deadlines at work, several major application deadlines for students, and my Professional Engineering exam, I was fucking worked! And with that, I am ready to (hopefully) bring this bitch back online!

So how should I start? With my son! The Boy Beast Wonder is amazing! I will call him the Boy Beast, but I will not call him the BBW. Why? Because Googling BBW yields highly inappropriate material that will get me fired from at least one of my jobs. BUT! My son is ALREADY WALKING! Eight months old, and the child wants to walk and run everywhere! He only takes a few steps, of course, before he decides it is time to run. Because he hasn't quite learned to run, he then face-plants to the floor. That's okay though! He even said his first word: "Hello". Adele would be so damn proud!

In other news, my son has learned a new trick. If you read through many of my past posts, you will see where I lament over my son being constipated. I am proud and terrified to say that this is no longer a concern. Quite the contrary, our son has learned a new trick. If we put him down for a nap, and he decided he doesn't want one, then he will stand-up, stare at the baby monitor, dip his hips *grunt*, "WAAAHHH!"

Yes, that's right. My son will poo. He is a spiteful, vengeful pooper. Now I know what you are thinking. Surely it is just coincidence, right? No! He does it out of spite! How do I know? Because he did it three times in one day! Every single time. Crib. Stand. Dip. Grunt. Poo. Cry.

After a while, I actually started to worry about his colon. That is a whole helluva lot of movement for such a tiny body. Of course, that much poo-poo is also exhausting. We gave him a bath after the third poo, and that child damn near passed-out in the water. I actually think he may have made an effort to poo, but was just too tired to do so, and tuckered himself out.

Moral of the Story: My son is the Boy Beast Wonder, and has engaged in bio-warfare against us.