We are finding that our three year old is afflicted with the strangest maladies. I’m not sure we need a good doctor as much as we need a young priest and an old priest. Let me give you a couple examples of the odd problems Segundo has complained about lately.
- He had a mouse in his stomach. While out in search of a Christmas Tree we stopped to have some of our packed lunch. Segundo didn’t want to eat too much because there was a mouse in his stomach that didn’t like eating crackers. We asked is his stomach hurt and he told us it didn’t hurt, but it tickled some times when the mouse would turn around. He got in there through his back while he was sleeping apparently. He told us later that night that the mouse was gone because he wanted some sun.
- A Bad Lady Bug Broke his Heart. This one took some ferreting out to find what exactly happend. He said his heart hurt because it was broken. I thought he meant he was sad, or heart broken about something but the problem was much more literal. He said the reason his heart was hurting was because that lady bug that was out on the front stoop was bad and it crawled down his throat and into his heart and then started breaking it by flapping his wings. He had a lot a detail about why the lady bug was bad and how it hurt him. I started to worry that there was something really wrong but so far no more rogue bugs have attacked his heart.
- A baby Giraffe lives inside him. He was walking funny today, kinda like a frankenstein impersonation, and I asked him what he was doing. He said the baby giraffe that lived inside him was stretching and couldn’t bend over at the moment. I asked how a baby giraffe comes to inhabit a three year old and he said it was just an egg when he ate it but then it grew. I’m worried about that girafe getting to much bigger lest it pop out the top of his head.
I posted last week about living in a house of turdburglars, and from the comments and tweets from others I am not alone. Kids seem to have a mission to keep you from being comfortable at all while in the can, and my son Primo provided the latest example of this yesterday. I had slaved over a hot stove to get a delicious and nutritious lunch out for the boys and while they were enmeshed in their lunches I thought it might be a good time to handle some business of my own. Quick check in to make sure waters were full and plates piled high and then nipped into the bathroom with the latest copy of Entertainment Weekly. I was in there less than a minute when Primo knocks on the half closed door ( I still needed to hear if they were choking or not) and asked what I was doing. He needed to go to the bathroom and wanted me to pinch it off and hit the bricks. I told him to go pee in the back yard I was busy but he would not be detoured. “Your just gonna have to wait buddy, I’m half way across the river and if I turn back now I’ll drown.” He had no idea what I was talking about and asked if he could open the garage. “Sure, open the garage and I will let you know when I’m done.” A minute later Segundo came into the bathroom saying that Primo needed toilet paper. He shouldn’t need toilet paper if he’s waiting, “he is waiting right Segundo?” “No daddy, he poop in my baby potty!” Dude had pen the garage, found the little potty up in the shelf and pulled it down to cop a squat. The problem, besides that fact that he was sitting in the drive way, on a busy street, pooping in a tiny baby toilet, is that it is not big enough to handle his deposit. He filled the pot so that his whole bottom was covered and when he got up got it all over his shirt and shorts. By this time I was done and outside to see him crying because he was literally covered in poo. I stripped him down and wanted to turn the hose on him but because it was so cold we wiped him down and brought him into the shower. Later that night he said “Daddy I still smell like poop” and after I told him I was sorry and that he was clean he sulked away saying “I’m gonna smell like poop forever!” I sure hope not, but one thing I do know: There is no good time to go to the bathroom when you have kids in the house. You never know what will happen.