Thursday, January 14, 2010
Day 834 - To Catch a Parent
To this day, I proclaim that I have never been a baby person. Even with our kids, I found the first 6-8 months of parenthood like an assembly line. First stop: booby juice. Second stop: burping station. Third stop: diaper changing. Fourth stop: off the assembly line into a crib. And then during our break we would step outside for a smoke and complain how under paid we are.
I've always enjoyed kids more when they become interactive and responsive. Emma and Andrew are infinitely more fun now than when they were just poop robots. But something happened with Emma that makes me long for the days when she did nothing except eat, poop, and sleep.
During Emma's constipation phase over the holiday, she developed a bit of a diaper rash. Nothing major, but we were pretty diligent about putting diaper cream on her tushy to make sure her rash wouldn't get worse. As I was putting a dab of cream around her butthole, Emma said the following to me, "Hey! Hey!"
What's dat again?
I thought it might've been just a fluke. Perhaps the diaper cream was too cold, or Emma was reminded of a Fat Albert episode she especially enjoyed. But no! On multiple occasions she has been saying "Hey! Hey!": 1) When I washed Emma's own private Idaho in the bathtub, she said, "Hey! Hey!" 2) When I swifted her crack clean of dung dust, she said, "Hey! Hey!" 3) When we drove by a pasture, she yelled, "Hay! Hay!"
Obviously, Emma is too young to know about her private parts and all that it entails. I assume her reaction is more along the lines of cold cream or baby wipes surprising her down yonder. Yet I can't help but feel embarrassed and awkward when Emma utters, "Hey! Hey!" Perhaps it's my own painful flashbacks of girls never wanting me to touch them . Okay fine...it's my own painful flashbacks of Lisa never wanting me to touch her.
Much like many things that the kids do, experience dictates that Emma's reaction will pass. I'll have to deal with it for the moment, and it will become another story to tell the grandkids. At least Emma's reaction to me wiping and washing her down there is a lot better than Andrew telling me, "Don't touch my balls!"