My Baby the Buddha/My Kid the Village Idiot

My kid is an idiot.

I know that is cruel, but it is true.  As has been well documented, he may look adorable, but that kid is a trained kamakazie warrior, hellbent on killing himself at every opportunity.  His new fun thing is to choke on air.  AIR!  He will be sitting all happily in his chair, and then *bam* – he begins choking.  And I don’t mean coughing, I mean CHOKING.  I mean, Mummy is calling 999 (US people, in the UK emergency services is 999).  Then, the screaming from almost dying begins, and I have to calm him down before I can even figure out what the hell happened. 

He also loves to starve himself.  He doesn’t go from full to peckish to a bit hungry to hungry, he apparently refuses to acknowledge that he might want some food till it’s too late, then he’s all OMGSOHUNGRYFEEDME, which leads to choking on the boob/bottle from all the SNARFSNARFSNARFing of food.  I mean, seriously.  He’s like 58 days old, and has been feed on average 8 times a day.  That’s 464 feeds.  You would think after, oh, the 200th feed or so, he would have cottoned on that snarfing down food = choking on food = your tummy will feel icky, but oooooh no.  This kid doesn’t get it.  I can’t imagine people who do baby led anything (food, sleep, etc), as we would never get anything done. 

The other day I was changing Weapon and he flapped his hand into his diaper load and then tried to eat it.  That’s coprophagia, the eating of one’s poop.  I managed to train my rats not to eat their own poo, but apparently Weapon isn’t getting the memo quite yet.  My rats also responded to their names – CATCH UP, KID. 


My child is the Buddha, aware of all in the Universe, becoming one with all Enlightenment.  He sits in stillness, and in his eyes I see perfection – I see what the world should be.  I can be stressed over the computer, or the news, or even my own aches and pains from childbirth, and I look at him – he who went through such pain, such uncertainty, and who still can find joy in something as simple as the light changing in the room, and I think, ‘What have I to worry over?  What have I to mourn?’.  I am reminded of the sacredness of our bond, that of parent and child, and of the connection we have as humans.  I see in others my son, and increase the connectivity of the world.  His life makes the Universe a better place.

…but he seriously needs to stop trying to touch his own poo.  That shit is nasty