My daughter has reminded me that newborns have some amazing abilities. For instance, Annabelle can make different animal noises. Sometimes she sounds like a cute little bird, chirping away. Other times she’s a King Cobra, hissing and ready to attack a small animal. She can morph from the bird to the cobra in approximately 2.5 seconds.
You’d think that she would only be able to continue making this cobra noise for a limited time. If I tried to imitate this guttural screaming, it would hurt my throat and I’d have to stop after a couple of minutes. Not so with either of my children. Both of them, as babies, appeared to be able to continue this ear bleeding wailing indefinitely. I suspect all babies can do this, but is it wrong to feel that my children are especially gifted and talented at it? I’m not saying it’s a competition. I’m just saying that they won.
Colin, not to be outdone, has developed a toddler talent. He is immune to the cobra attack sounds. True story: there have been times when my husband and I are both lying unconscious on the floor as a result of banging our heads against the wall, having been broken by Annabelle’s relentless screaming. Colin, unaffected, remains standing, clutching a book, asking, “Can someone read this to me?” It gets even more amazing: Once he fell asleep in the car during one of Annabelle’s prolonged scream sessions. Oh, how I envy him.
Annabelle’s kryptonite is sleep sheep. It worked on Colin too. It’s a stuffed sheep that makes ocean noises, except that it’s a hassle to carry around the whole sheep, so we gutted it and took out its electronic soul. When Annabelle starts crying but nothing’s wrong, we point the powerful sleep sheep beam at her, and she is snoring almost immediately. The drawback is that sleep sheep takes no prisoners. He works on me and my husband and anyone who strays into his path. DARPA is currently studying how it can be used to fight terrorism.
Once sleep sheep disappeared—possibly he escaped into that big pasture in the sky. Or maybe we left him at Fresh Choice. That night, when Annabelle started wailing and we discovered sleep sheep was missing, panic broke out in our household. Except with Colin, who was calmly requesting that someone play cars with him. Luckily, I remembered that I’d bought an extra sleep sheep for my sister, who’s expecting, so I screamed desperately for my husband to retrieve it from our closet. We quickly gutted the new sheep, and peace was restored. Too bad for my sister. There’ll be no serene livestock to save her now.
Another talent both my kids possess is that they excel at creating disgusting messes—mostly on my husband. Colin’s greatest achievement occurred when Andy was carrying him in the front pack. We had gone for a walk, and when we were about two miles from the car, Colin pooped. This was no ordinary poop. It was one of those massive ones that, when you see it on the changing table, you wonder whether your baby’s butt will ever be clean again. Since Colin was in the front pack, the poop squeezed up through the carrier, covering my husband’s shirt and dripping down his shorts and legs. When we got to the car (after a long two miles and a lot of funny looks), Andy had to strip, and I drove him home in his underwear. It’s funny in retrospect. Actually, it was funny at the time, too. But Andy just had no sense of humor about it.
Annabelle, though only five weeks old, has already earned a disgusting mess story for the books. She’s such a prodigy. Andy was lying down, holding her on his chest, when she projectile vomited into his mouth. While my husband gagged and gargled Clorox, I marveled that such a feat was even possible. (Andy assures me it is.)
It’s really neck and neck to pick a winner between Colin and Annabelle for the disgusting mess talent competition. Colin had Andy dripping in poop for two miles—really superb timing—but Annabelle threw up in his mouth. Definite points for accuracy on that one—plus, Annabelle’s not even two months old. She still has time to submit another entry.
I hate to be one of those parents who brags about her kids, but how can I keep quiet? You’d think they’re so gifted because I taught them, but these subjects—endless screaming, well timed poops, and projectile vomiting—aren’t even subjects I cover in my tutoring center. What can I say? They’re just naturals, I guess. I can only hope our third child will be as amazing.
Except that Andy says there will not be a third. But I think I’ll be able to talk him around.
I might wait until he stops walking around the house gagging, though.
You’d think that she would only be able to continue making this cobra noise for a limited time. If I tried to imitate this guttural screaming, it would hurt my throat and I’d have to stop after a couple of minutes. Not so with either of my children. Both of them, as babies, appeared to be able to continue this ear bleeding wailing indefinitely. I suspect all babies can do this, but is it wrong to feel that my children are especially gifted and talented at it? I’m not saying it’s a competition. I’m just saying that they won.
Colin, not to be outdone, has developed a toddler talent. He is immune to the cobra attack sounds. True story: there have been times when my husband and I are both lying unconscious on the floor as a result of banging our heads against the wall, having been broken by Annabelle’s relentless screaming. Colin, unaffected, remains standing, clutching a book, asking, “Can someone read this to me?” It gets even more amazing: Once he fell asleep in the car during one of Annabelle’s prolonged scream sessions. Oh, how I envy him.
Annabelle’s kryptonite is sleep sheep. It worked on Colin too. It’s a stuffed sheep that makes ocean noises, except that it’s a hassle to carry around the whole sheep, so we gutted it and took out its electronic soul. When Annabelle starts crying but nothing’s wrong, we point the powerful sleep sheep beam at her, and she is snoring almost immediately. The drawback is that sleep sheep takes no prisoners. He works on me and my husband and anyone who strays into his path. DARPA is currently studying how it can be used to fight terrorism.
Once sleep sheep disappeared—possibly he escaped into that big pasture in the sky. Or maybe we left him at Fresh Choice. That night, when Annabelle started wailing and we discovered sleep sheep was missing, panic broke out in our household. Except with Colin, who was calmly requesting that someone play cars with him. Luckily, I remembered that I’d bought an extra sleep sheep for my sister, who’s expecting, so I screamed desperately for my husband to retrieve it from our closet. We quickly gutted the new sheep, and peace was restored. Too bad for my sister. There’ll be no serene livestock to save her now.
Another talent both my kids possess is that they excel at creating disgusting messes—mostly on my husband. Colin’s greatest achievement occurred when Andy was carrying him in the front pack. We had gone for a walk, and when we were about two miles from the car, Colin pooped. This was no ordinary poop. It was one of those massive ones that, when you see it on the changing table, you wonder whether your baby’s butt will ever be clean again. Since Colin was in the front pack, the poop squeezed up through the carrier, covering my husband’s shirt and dripping down his shorts and legs. When we got to the car (after a long two miles and a lot of funny looks), Andy had to strip, and I drove him home in his underwear. It’s funny in retrospect. Actually, it was funny at the time, too. But Andy just had no sense of humor about it.
Annabelle, though only five weeks old, has already earned a disgusting mess story for the books. She’s such a prodigy. Andy was lying down, holding her on his chest, when she projectile vomited into his mouth. While my husband gagged and gargled Clorox, I marveled that such a feat was even possible. (Andy assures me it is.)
It’s really neck and neck to pick a winner between Colin and Annabelle for the disgusting mess talent competition. Colin had Andy dripping in poop for two miles—really superb timing—but Annabelle threw up in his mouth. Definite points for accuracy on that one—plus, Annabelle’s not even two months old. She still has time to submit another entry.
I hate to be one of those parents who brags about her kids, but how can I keep quiet? You’d think they’re so gifted because I taught them, but these subjects—endless screaming, well timed poops, and projectile vomiting—aren’t even subjects I cover in my tutoring center. What can I say? They’re just naturals, I guess. I can only hope our third child will be as amazing.
Except that Andy says there will not be a third. But I think I’ll be able to talk him around.
I might wait until he stops walking around the house gagging, though.
