Monday, June 23, 2008

Nothing like a case of willpower to bite you in the butt.

While I was making dinner (as previously mentioned, hash browns and eggs in the nest...YUM!), my husband was putting Mateo to sleep. He slowly slipped out of Mateo's room at one point, leaving a mewing Mateo in his crib to fall off into slumber land.

Then the mewing got louder. And louder. Aaaaaannnnnnnd louder. It turned into full blown cry. I couldn't do anything because I had a pan full of tasty sizzling eggs in the nest cooking, so I assumed my husband was going to take care of Mateo's cries of displeasure. Since I had the vent on, I could hear Mateo, but I wasn't sure if my husband was in there with him or not.

After I was finished with our fabulous meal, I walked into our bedroom to find my husband.

"Did you go in there at all?" I asked.

"No. I'm letting him cry it out," my husband told me.

"Ooooohhhhhhhhhhh. You're tough. Tough and mean. So mean. He's in there all upset and you never once went in there. Mean, mean, mean." I have mentioned I'm keen on joking around at other people's expense, haven't I?

My husband looked at me. The poor guy looked guilty and sad and confused.

"Your dinner is ready," I said while I walked out.

During the first few minutes of our meal, Mateo started banging at something near his crib. Boing! Boing! Boing!

I said, "That's his way of saying 'you bastards!'"

Eventually he settled down and we heard no more Mateo peeps.

After watching Intervention where the parents of a guy got upset over and over about their son's crack addiction, I had to make a teary-eyed visit to Mateo. Pretty much anything on TV makes me think of Mateo and how he'll probably break my heart some day. Some how.

When I walked into Mateo's room, I could smell the familiar stank of Mateo poop. I went over to his crib. He was on his belly with one leg sticking up, held up by the crib slats. I did my butt squeeze inspection, which woke him up, and I was fairly certain he had a poop in his diaper.

He slowly stood up, and I picked him up and took him over to his dresser to get inspected and changed.

He had pooped.

Since I went MIA for a bit, I realized after I left Mateo's room that my husband was looking for me in our really big condo, and when he saw me, he said, "what were you doing in there?

"You want to know? You want some Dad guilt?"


"You really want to know?"


"Okay...get ready to feel bad. He had pooped!" I said.

"But he doesn't poop when he sleeps," my husband told me.

"He pooped."

"He didn't poop when I was in there," he told me.

"He pooped when you left. He pooped. You poop. Everybody poops."

"But I didn't know...." he said sadly.

"Well now don't you feel bad for not going in there. Poor little guy with poop in his diaper."

It's so much fun turning guilt onto someone else. So much fun.

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