In our desperate attempt to savor these moments together we each made genuine efforts to converse on subjects beyond the color palette of Achilles's shit and our disappointment in not having bred with a partner in possession of a more dignified nose.
On the first evening we both commented that a variety of world events seemed to have occurred over the past five weeks since Throckmorton was born. Neither one of us knew what exactly had happened in Iran, China, Alaska and Honduras, but we were both in agreement that events had indeed taken place and were reassured that one day Exree would learn about them and enlighten us. We then sat in silence hoping that the little spider monkey wouldn't wake up.
The next evening we discussed swine flu. It wasn't long before we realized that I had every symptom of the disease. Unable to comprehend the situation, we quietly panicked for a few minutes until young Studebake squawked. The Chairwoman poured herself a glass of wine, and not only declared me fit for action but on duty. I crossed my eyes, marched into battle and mumbled something about her nose.
When I returned two hours later the conversation reverted to the subtle differences between French and English mustard... And thus the color palette of baby shit once again became the sole topic of conversation in Castle Studebake.
(Photo Credit: Shelbot Productions)
2 comments:
Dear Drake - the colour of babyshit, being the proud owner of an 11 month old, I dimly remember that lecture series. All I concern myself with now is runny or solid. Runny means I get a call from the girlies at the nursery to come fetch her. Solid is good. I'm particularly proud of the fact that she can poo without going red faced, but for some strange reason this achievement is not recognised in any section of her book of baby firsts.
So our sons *must* have been born within a few days of each other. I can't find your son's birthdate on your blog, but mind was born 6/17/09. What about yours?!
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