Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Fun, Games & Food

Yet another parenting lesson I’m learning lately is that as my kid grows and changes it’s pushing me to do the same.

Case and point are the games we play. As our little guy has grown and become more interactive we’ve been playing with him every step of the way.

Playing is a loose term which entails doing little more than repeating until the end of time that which makes the child giggle.

One day making the sound of dripping water with my mouth had him in stitches. No sooner did I discover he liked it than he tired of it. The next day I was reduced to making some popping noise by slapping my hand to my mouth.

Ever try slapping your face for 35 minutes straight?

What could go wrong here?
Like so much else in parenthood, you forfeit all of your pride in the name of your baby. In some cases, the actual act of losing pride can indeed be amusing to your child.

As evidence I present, a new game I discovered called “Stir the Baby.” This one involves holding him above my head and moving him in a figure-eight pattern slowly above me as he holds a superman pose.

As we do this I look into his eyes and lightly scream “Stir the baby! Stir the baby!” and the boy giggles throughout.

It’s great until the inevitable happens. Anyone who’s ever held a baby over their head for more than a minute at a time knows what I mean.

You’re having fun, the baby is laughing, you’re laughing and then – in an instant –  your baby’s laughter isn’t the only thing leaving his mouth.

You’re lucky if it’s just drool. But, more often than not, it’s some drool-food, combo.

When Master Blackwell decided to let it all fly, my mouth was wide open so that I too experienced the wonderful food we’ve been feeding him.

In response, I did what any rationale human being who’d just involuntarily been fed like a baby bird would do, I freaked out. Of course, my son loved my reaction and more laughs were forthcoming.

This however, will not become a game. There’s not much pride or ego left here, but there is however a small, faint line and I’m not crossing it – intentionally. 

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