Mudbaby

The last two weekends have found the noble Holmes clan attending parties for children who are celebrating their first year on Earth outside of a womb, i.e., first birthday parties. I would like to offer this piece of evidence as testimony to the fact that my wife and I now live in a universe populated almost entirely by people who have kids. Oh, and their kids, they're in this universe as well. Obviously. It's a nice place, though there are a lot of minivans.

Speaking of the unrelated, I recently read about all the god-awfully incorrect usages of "i.e." and "e.g." that I've been employing. I apologize for any past cringing I may have caused to anybody, and I promise to do better in the future. So let's tie off that tangent about here and call that topic over and done with.

But yeah, it's definitely funny when you realize that you're the kind of person who has two weekends in a row of baby parties to go to. Thankfully, although the focus was on the wee'uns, the conversation and the beverages were of an adult nature for the most part. I say this because I think I'm finding now that I've been a parent for a while, I get kind of bored when a conversation between parents is only about kids. Sorta like coworkers who only talk about work. So as a reproducer myself, it's always good to be around other reproducers who can talk both about their reproductions as well as other big important topics. Like TV and movies.

Check out the bottom of Henry's shoes after yesterday's party. There were some muddy patches in the backyard of the house we were at, and little guy dove headfirst into the childhood joy that is playing in the mud. Not that he's particularly fastidious the rest of the time, but I think this might have been the first time he desperately needed a bath for reasons other than being covered in food.

Taking a break from the mud, little guy also managed to rattle a couple that was expecting their first child. As such couples can, should, and nearly always do in my experience, they were gushing about all aspects of pregnancy and the acquisition of various baby accouterments etc. etc. blah blah blah, but it was clear that the dad-to-be hadn't spent much time around babies. Hey, that was definitely me before Henry came along. At one point they were sitting on the floor next to us eating, and Biscuit wandered over their direction. Since he's all cute and junk, they greet him with enthusiastic baby-talkish greetings, to which he responds with a very loud and forceful "BITE!" Not a question, but a command. It was clear to all within earshot that he was demanding his fair share of the food on their plate, like a Roman tax-collector demanding Caesar's due. I think the nice people had been expecting cute baby talk, and instead they'd been barked at. Heh, that's my kid, the one making people uncomfortable.