Prelude to a crime scene: 10 and a half month old willful boy goes down for a nap. That he doesn't want to take. Boy, ever working on his personality, screams at the top of his lungs to let me know he's not on board with the plan. He's not crying. He's exercising his pipes. That's the nicest way I know how to put it.
Yells persist. For several minutes. Yells of fury. Indeed, our boy has a temper.
And then. All is quiet. Not a peep.
Time passes. Because this is an afternoon nap, I must wake him so that we can begin the nightly ritual of play, feeding, winding down, getting ready for bed and finally, bed again.
Unwittingly, I've entered a crime scene.
Victims: Fluffles the Lamb, lil' duckie, the snoring bear. One pacifier. Everyone has been flung from the crib except the boing-boing bunny. He is laying there, next to sleeping baby, silent and in shock. Not a boing-boing to be heard.
Evidence: I submit these photos, taken while the perp still slept.
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In other news, we bought a few bouncy balls yesterday to spice up playtime. H. loves them. He chases them to the far corners of the apartment. You know who else loves them? The beagle. Before you say, "Of course he loves them! He's a dog!", let me clarify. Jackson is the anti-dog. He could care less about balls. (Including the pair he used to own. Thanks, I'll be here all night.) We take him to the dog run, throw a ball and he runs after our hands.
So now that the baby has a couple of balls to play with, the J-man all of a sudden wants to bend it like Beckham.
*****
H., who used to love being in his stroller, now...not so much. He screams at the top of his well-oiled, oft-used lungs. People turn around. I think what he's trying to say is: It is just. So. Frustrating. To be in. THIS. STOOPID. STROLLER!!! Be that as it may, it's gotten so loud that I've already caved and done the one thing I swore I would never do: ply him with treats to make him stop. Yep, that's right. I stuff his mouth with Cheerios just so he doesn't scream. It's so loud, birds flee from trees, dogs cower and grown men cry.
So anyway, we were on line for burritos today and the man ahead of us asked to see what some dish looked like. The woman behind the counter raised the lid the exact time my son decided to unleash one of his blood curdling screams. Get this--I heard the man say that he was scared because he thought the sound was coming from the pot. And then he said it twice more. OKAY DUDE! I GET IT! MY KID SCARED YOU! GROW UP!
Disclaimer: Portions of this post may have been exaggerated to prove my point, whatever that is. Except the part about the dog who now loves balls not having any. That's true. And the guy at the burrito place being scared. No balls either.
