Uh oh….
My buddy Alessandro popped in for the weekend… what a blast! He’s a dynamo, honestly, AND fully ambulatory! He came in like a hurricane and interfaced with just about every toy I had in roughly 2 minutes. Did I mention that he can walk?! He’s from the big city … Toronto… a big place which, I’m guessing, must have more than a hundred people! And I suck at soccer.
My papa is a bit of a photo nut so, somewhat reluctantly, I agreed to pose for him on our last outing. He needs a bit of training on composition, lighting and a few other technical aspect of fashion photography but, in the end, he managed to get off a few passable shots. This is his favourite…
I dunno.
Do you think it makes my head look fat?
OK… so I’m a bit embarassed, I think. Suddenly my mom thinks I need some nekkid time to commune with nature and I find myself, sans nappie or much else, out in public view. I must admit that the breeze is somewhat refreshing – but I do feel a bit vulnerable. Crawling is easier… but, between you and me, I’m a tad self-conscious as I meander across the front lawn wearing nothing more than a hat and a bit of drool.
Oh great…go ahead. Snap a picture of me while I’m chasing an ant up my nose. Thanks! I’ll leave you a surprise on the blankie…
You know, I like to follow fashion trends just like the other gals, but tell me, in which sister-sister manual does it say that a gal’s gotta match her threads to her mamma’s? I hafta say, once and for all, that it just creeps me out when I look in the mirror and my momma and I are wearing the same freekin’ outfit.
I must admit though… I think red is my colour. Dunno about my Martha-Stewart-wannabe-mom… maybe she should stick to earth tones.
Woah… today I experienced something radically different from the rest of my existence! At first it was just a question of sitting in a different but similar chair, if you know what I mean. But then, all of sudden, there’s my maternal unit pushing on the chair, almost as if she wanted to put some distance between me and her.
Then, without warning, the chair starts to fall back towards her, as if some secret force was at work denying her the pleasure of my rejection. So then she pushes again, as if to emphasize her antipathy, and — amazingly — her efforts are thwarted by a sudden swing back towards her. This “to-fro” yin-yang thing goes on for several time-units.
She squealed then screamed something at me but that woman just can’t pronounce her words — it just sounds like mumbling to me. Besides, if it doesn’t start with a “buh” sound then I don’t understand it… come to think of it, every word I know is pronounced “buh”… go figure.
I am soooo freaked out! I knew about the holes in my head… as far as I can tell I have one for each finger (on one hand…) and, I’m proud to say, I can point to them all when my handlers mention their names: “ears”, “nose” and, the big one, mouth. And I figured out their purposes too (duhhh…. doesn’t take a two-year-old to figure those out).
And I kinda suspected that I have a couple of holes in the diaper zone but I’d rather not muck around down there, if you know what I mean. What freaked me out is, like, the other day I’m getting some big time attention because I figured out where my belly was, then today… Papa sticks his finger INSIDE my belly and says, with an evil smile, “belly button”! My jaw must have dropped when my fingers slid down to his and, I’m not kidding, right in the middle of my belly, I could feel another hole!!!
Yuck! I’m really worried now… what if my arms get longer and I discover a whole network of holes? And what possible purpose could a hole in your belly serve? Drainage? Feeding? Accessories? I shudder to think of the possibilities…
So it turns out, after all, that my paternal unit isn’t such a dweeb after all. I was concerned when I found out he was a computer dweeb … I mean, how could he possibly take care of my needs when he makes such poor career choices? But then I discovered that he moonlights as a volunteer firefighter… now that’s a real job. I imagine he gets paid mucho dinera for that!
I’m relieved, frankly. It would have been really awkward dragging my bones to the first day at pre-kin knowing that my answer to the perennial “so what does your father-figure do?” question would be “well… he’s a dweeb”. Now I can say, with some pride, that he’s a highly paid volunteer firefighting dude.