Where the Wild Thing Is: Poop where you eat?

Last night Gus fussed and wailed, waking his parents up several times. We followed all of the rituals that normally calm him back to sleep, but sometimes what seems logical and has worked many times in the past has absolutely zero effect. And I’m pretty sure I know why.

Our baby is essentially a wild animal.

Eventually we’ll domesticate him. He will learn to govern his emotions and begin to behave modestly. He will understand shame and pride, and will have the wisdom to know when to exhibit both. He will grapple with issues of diplomacy and discipline, and, with luck, will complete this whole package with a modicum of emotional intelligence.

But for now, he’ll fart directly in your face.

He’ll poop in your lap while you’re having dinner.

He’ll cry when you’re trying to make him laugh and he’ll laugh when you stub your toe and collapse to the floor in a heap of pain.

He’ll puke on his own shirt and smile with a milky strand still dangling from his lower lip.

He’ll lick the floor. Greedily.

If Gus were born with sharp teeth I’m certain I’d be missing a finger by now. Fortunately he just has slobbery pink gums with which to suck on everything he can get his sticky paws on. If we give him a plastic ring, for example, he shakes his head aggressively from side-to-side while clamping down, in much the way a shark might thrash its teeth more deeply into the torso of a surfer to maximize the damage and increase the size of the chunk removed.

Imagine if adults behaved this way? On Thanksgiving we’d have to throw plastic tarps over the furniture to protect against the spatter.

But while Gus may be a wild animal, he’s MY wild animal and I love him beyond description. This morning I was feeding him a bottle when he began grunting, the way a caveman might grunt as he hoists a buffalo leg onto his shoulder. This went on for about 30 seconds, and then …

Guess what happened next?

Was he ashamed to do such a thing while eating? Nope. Did he recognize that it was in bad form to stomp his bare foot into the horrifyingly messy diaper while dad struggled to change him? Puh-lease.

If an adult did these things and smiled about it we’d have that adult committed STAT. But when Gus does it, it’s actually a freakin’ riot.

What an animal.