I’m slowly getting used to the fact that I wake up every morning to a shrieking banshee midget laying right next to my head. It sure doesn’t make for an easy night. In light of my son’s habits, however, I believe that some good fatherly advice is necessary to stop him from causing himself problems.
Cristian, you have a powerful set of lungs and I commend you for it. Your shrieking is always a ten-out-of-ten. Top notch, ninety decibels, and your grasp of the whole panic thing is excellent. When you cry, you could convince anyone that rabid demon hounds are eating your legs and eyeing your arms. However, I have to warn you against excessive indulgence in that talent.
You see, getting your diaper changed is pretty much an hourly event, sometimes more often than that. Anything that happens that often can’t possibly be so harrowing as to deserve a ten. Try a two for diaper changing. Otherwise when the boogie man comes in and starts pitching marbles at your eyeballs, I’ll just shrug it off. “Eh, your mother’s probably wiping his butt,” I’ll say.
Another favorite moment Cristian has to begin to scream is when he stops being fed. Being a perpetually hungry man as you apparently are, I must tell you that you’re going to spend a lot of your life not eating, much more than you’d like. Level ten screaming won’t help. Level ten screaming might make us wonder if you’ve been poisoned by the villains at Similac and melting from the inside out, but it won’t make us feed you into an unhealthy blob.
Most of the time your bath is also a shriek fest. While baths are less frequent than the other two activities, thanks to your other talent of pooping everywhere it’s rather common. So freaking out about it only hurts your cause. If you are left on the cold asphalt with pins stuck between your rolls and you shriek, I’m just going to think, “When is that woman going to finish bathing my son?”
I love this boy, love him to death, but I’m really looking forward to the part where he smiles once in a while, and babbles a bit.