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So, today the Samurai and I got to babysit for adorable nephew Alex. He is nearly two. The first hurdle was getting him to quit bellowing after his mommy and daddy left. He was seriously pissed off. (Have I mentioned that he's almost two?) Aunt EduCait was reduced to making stuffed animals dance while Uncle Samurai retreated to the bathroom. Coward. Once Alex resigned himself to large clueless people for the evening, we had fun. First, we watched the Preakness. "Oosies!" Alex burbled. "Yes! Horsies!" I exclaimed. We treat every word we can understand like it's a Major World Event of Enormous Joy. The boy isn't talkin' much, so we're encouraging vocalization. I nearly fainted with delight when he started saying my name today. After the Preakness, the boy was starving. It took two college-educated teaching professionals to figure out how to operate the high chair. We were ignoring the instructions *clearly printed on the tray.* I fed the boychild, while the Samurai critici--err, offered helpful suggestions, like "Don't give him that! He'll feed it to the dog!" Didn't help any when he was *right*, either. Sarah, the dog, embellished everything we did today by passing copious amounts of very stinky gas. My brother should have named her "Napalm." After dinner, and divesting Alex of the spaghetti liberally smeared all over his body, we went outside. We played in the kiddie pool, made a mess at the sand table, and chased bubbles blown by Uncle Samurai. Aunt EduCait drew extraordinarily lifelike portaits of her brother, sister-in-law, and Alex on the patio in sidewalk chalk. Alex detailed his mother's portrait with long streamers of something gushing forth from her nasal region. Hope it rains tonight. When the skeeters arrived for the buffet, we went back inside. Alex entertained us all by twirling in circles until he fell down, giggling, and filling his pants. I got to change his diaper. Yum. He managed to get it out the leg holes and up his back. I thought about giving him a bath, but settled for using a lot of baby wipes. Got the rest of the pisketti out of his neck, too. Once in his dinosaur PJs, Alex wound down. When he began taking breaks on my lap for long intervals of finger-sucking, we popped him into bed. One howl, and he was out. We survived our night, although I'm covered in spaghetti sauce, Sarah hair, dog spit, baby boy boogers, and apple juice. I am richer by several thousand toddler giggles and silly grins, a bunch of hugs, some cuddling, a thorough knowledge of one particular Bob the Builder book, and some mosquito bites. Oh, and I now know how to operate a high chair. It's a good thing we don't have kids. It's too hard for us! |
 
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King Alex