I blame myself for this; I really do. Samson, when he burps, laughs and says "whoa."
I should explain. He's still probably teetering at the 20-lb. mark, but for some reason, when he burps it's like we have John Madden sitting in the highchair. [Note to Mr. Madden: I'm sure you're a nice guy, but I had to guess at which large celebrity would be a loud burper and you were top of mind. All apologies].
Now, all along, I should have been gently reminding him (as I have of late) "Samson, say 'excuse me.'" But, and it caught me totally unaware the first time I heard him say it, I guess I've been voicing my surprise/wonder/admiration lo these many months.
Hence the big burp and little voice that says "whoa."
We'll have to work on this before he goes to school. There was a kid in my elementary school who could burp the alphabet. Loudly. He was like a rock star. Unfortunately, he was still doing it in high school (and may still be doing it now as he finishes out his sentence for assault --- I wish I was kidding about that last part).
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About Me
- dada
- Call me dada. This has, in the few months since my son started "talking," become my name. I'm sure (at least I hope) it will eventually morph into something less early 20th century art movementy --- but I am marked forever as dada. And this is a good thing. I have no real advice to offer, other than always carry Cheerios and extra onesies, and I don't really have a lot of 'wacky' adventures to regale you with. Truth be told, this is as much for me as it is for you. So, uh, thanks for stopping by. I hope it's at least an interesting time-killer. And if not, consider this an ironic exercise in skewering the bourgeouis notions of 21st century American parenthood by deconstructing the materialist ethos that has turned childhood into a demographic and rendered adults simultaneous enablers and slaves. Or something.
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