Baby Daddy 54: My Son Ate It

What man, what a man, what a man, what a mighty good man.....

Have you ever had it where you want to write, and you have all the material, and you never get the time to write it? Literally the past month. I have been traveling more than I ever wanted. I have been working more than I ever wanted. And for the first time in a decent while (two months) I am finally writing again. For the record, I have started getting to the office at 5AM, which affords me time to get shit done. And for the record, a 19-hour day is not sustainable. I know this. I respect this. And I recognize that it is necessary for short sprints.

But that does not delve into the world of fatherhood. What does? My son. My son learned an important lesson.

For those that have not been keeping up, such as myself, my son is two years old. Actually, he is two and half years. And as any good two-year-old, my son loves to run, play, learn, and test limits. Last week, my son was playing with the idea of chewing things. In particular, my son decided to put small toys in his mouth.

While we don't have many toys that would be a choking hazard, we do have some that fit in his mouth. And as any good parent would, my wife and I work hard to keep our son from putting those toys in his mouth.

Enter: The Two-Year-Old

As I said, my son is an active two-year-old and like to test limits. You can tell when he is testing limits because he gets this gleam in his eye. He gets a smirk on his face, you know that he is thinking, "how serious are you, Baba?"

Well one day, I kept telling my son not to put the toys in his mouth. Of course, he kept doing so until I took the toy away. My son then found the next closest thing: a brown rock. I immediately said, "NO!" and lunged for my boy. He put the rock in his mouth, got a look of confusion, and immediately spat it out.

Now, I should probably share the fact that we were pet-sitting the week before, during which time the dog and cat started a turf-war. Imagine the Bloods and the Crips, but with pee-pee and poopoo.

I'm going to let you think about the situation a little bit longer......

There it is!

Yes, my son put a small piece of poopoo in his mouth. As it turns out -- despite my best efforts -- I had not completely cleaned the mess. I thought I had, but it turns out there was one area that I was not aware of. It was kinda like walking down the street and discovering a body in the alleyway.

Like any good parent/cop, I set up caution tape, cleaned up the scene of the crime, and waterboarded my son into a confession.

That's a lie. I washed his hands and mouth before cleaning the rest of the area.

Moral of the Story: My son ate shit, and I now have additional ammunition to wield against him during those angsty teenage years. Oh, and I think he is technically a casualty of the gang war.