The Man-Cub

Sometimes I don't give Bobby enough space on here, and that is simply because I can rarely catch him standing still for the camera. It's not due to lack of material, because he provides me with so much that I could probably write a blog devoted exclusively to his bizarre shenanigans. Boy tots are about as wild as they come. Toddlers are basically tiny drunk people (I think we have covered this topic 84,000 times already). And males can occasionally be neanderthals when it comes to expressing emotions and the need to keep one hand on the crotch at all times. So put that together, and you've got a small drunk caveman that you're trying to rein in on an invisible leash.

With the face of an angel.

We go through phases where life seems fairly manageable; things will be pretty calm for a couple of weeks. And then, smack out of nowhere, Bob will turn into a wild beastie again. It's almost like he just wants to keep me on my toes. Either way, it's a damn good thing toddlers are adorable when they're not drinking glue. Yeah, glue drinking has been his latest endeavor. He recently climbed up on my desk, grabbed my bottle of fabric glue, opened it, and doused himself in it. Not only did he cover himself in said glue, but he also poured it all over my stock of merchandise that I had just finished for my Etsy shop. That was hours of work down the drain. And while he was at it, he managed to cover the floor, my beloved lucite ghost chair, and the walls in glue. The walls, guys. How does this even happen?

He has also learned how to puke on command. I think he mainly does this to get a reaction out of us, but he will occasionally gag when he wants attention or is displeased with the way that his food tastes (the food that he specifically requested five minutes beforehand). I can usually stop this before the situation completely unravels, but sometimes we find ourselves in a full-blown scene from The Exorcist. I don't really know the best way to handle this, especially because I would hate to punish him in an event that he was actually sick. So I'm torn between disciplining him or ignoring it and hoping that this phase will pass. But for now, I'm just glad that I'm not a sympathy puker. Since having children, I have come to realize that I have a stomach of steel. I've never seen so much vomit in my life, and I was a sorority girl. This may be my new secret talent.

His other new fun hobby is yelling "HELP!" when we are out in public. He was on our hotel balcony last week shouting it to all of the beach-goers, which makes me look really awesome. And then in the grocery store he will begin flailing his arms out of the cart hollering "HELP! HELP!!" to all the passersby. Yes, this makes me look like a kidnapper. But people, I've got news for you--if I had the chance to go to the grocery store alone, do you think that I would actually go and kidnap a toddler for fun and then take him with me? I'm not a masochist.

We have been working on potty training him lately. It initially went really well, due to an endless supply of bribery lollipops. Now it's still going pretty well, although he does still wear pull-ups out in public because I am not ready to commit to taking two toddlers into a public restroom by myself every five minutes. Sorry not sorry. He does great at home, though, and it's because he runs around exclusively naked. This is mainly due to the fact that he insists on removing all his clothes before going to the bathroom. You know who else has that quirk? George Costanza. This isn't a huge issue the first time, but it starts getting old after about thirty times. It's just easier to run around naked. Unfortunately, the flipside of a naked man-cub running around is that you find yourself saying things like, "Please don't rub your penis all over my upholstery." But you learn to pick your battles. We still have our setbacks some days, like when he decided to pee into a bag of corn chips last week, but all-in-all it's going pretty well.

And Bobby's new obsession is watching Top Gun. You'd think that I'd have gotten my fill of this movie by being married to a fighter pilot. I really thought I was good on never having to watch this movie ever again. But alas, Bob is obsessed with his daddy's airplanes and requests this movie about 3 times a day. We don't literally sit down and watch it all day, but I do turn it on for background noise in the morning, and we let him watch the opening scenes right before bed. When it's time to go to his room, he says, "Night night, mama. Night night, dada. Night night, Bibi (Vivi). Night night, Top Gun." Talk about melting a heart.

That's the je ne sais quoi that boys have--the ability to make you gag, angry, and sappy all in less than 60 seconds.

That's why God made boys.