When you realize the only thing you use your watch’s timer function for is for time outs.
Did you know I have a second son? It’s true. I haven’t mentioned him much here. I searched for “Desmond” and got 3 returns. That’s less than one per month of his life. That’s a great sign. I imagine if we ever have a third, he/she won’t be mentioned until roughly middle school age.
And yes, I also searched for “Desi,” only to find I use the word “desire” a lot.
I feel it’s safe to talk about Desi, now that he’s ‘turned’. Before a week or so ago, I’d always try to hush people when they spoke of how calm and good he was. It’s true, Desi was the perfect baby. He ate, he slept, or he sat patiently and smiled. He didn’t cry during bath time, he never complained about being cold…heck, he’s even smile and laugh when you changed his diaper. It almost made up for the horrid assault on your nose. So, needless to say, I didn’t want to jinx it by lauding the wonder of my perfect baby, lest God decide to smite my pride.
So I refrained. And God smote anyway.
Desi has now become a fairly standard baby. He’s still abnormally adorable, but now he screams if you leave him in his swing for more than 15 seconds; he whines when he’s hungry, that is to say, all the time; and he now does this awful back arching thing when you change his diaper. While crying.
He’s not all bad. He smiles just about any time I get in his field of view, as long as I’m not currently making him unhappy. That’s where the “abnormally adorable” part comes in.
When we started telling people what we were going to name him, a co-worker of mine told me that the word “desi” is slang for an Indian person. Now, this co-worker, Gopal, while Indian himself, is also a pathological liar. He’s the guy who’ll give you an answer to a rhetorical question, and then argue that it’s true, no matter how outlandish, just to see if he can convince you. He’s one of those people. So needless to say, I didn’t take it to heart. (I just realized I use “needless to say” a lot too. That’s a great pattern to have on your blog, you saying that the things you say are not needed. Often.)
Then a couple months ago, I ran a Google search on Desi, probably to see if anyone has bought desibullard.com and came upon several sites dedicated to Indian culture. The one time Gopal wasn’t lying through his teeth. So it’s true, ‘Desi’ is slang for Indian. Luckily it’s nothing negative, he just may get some funny looks from Indian folks when he introduces himself. I imagine it being similar to meeting a guy named ‘Cracker.’ Or something.
Inside the Lexus was a Indian woman having a spirited conversation on her cell phone. As I drove past her, I gave her a big thumbs up, mouthing the words “DESI POWER!”
I think she understood.
Yesterday we were getting ready to go out, everybody putting on shoes, rounding up supplies, getting Noah to choose a small toy to bring…you know, the regular routine. I open the door, start ushering Noah out, and Teresa looks at me and says, “Are we bringing Desi?”
Calmly sitting in the other room, oblivious to the world, is little Desmond.
“Oh yeah. Yeah, we should probably bring him.”
See, this is how my mind starts to internalize things. Teresa was in love with Desi and dreaming of her new four piece family within weeks of finding out. I, on the other hand, am like a fine wine. Facts must age in my brain until they’re ready for use.
As we load into the car, the old process of buckling Noah in has now expanded to buckling Noah in and getting Desi locked in. I try to avoid the second part, as putting a newborn into a car seat is akin to fitting potato chip into a change purse. It looks like it could fit, but your pretty sure something will snap in the process.
So while it used to be “Me and Tree and the boy” now it’s “Me and Tree and Noah and Desi.” It’s no longer “Noah is an addition to our couple.” It’s “We are clan Bullard.” We are a traveling troupe. Matching t-shirts would almost be appropriate.
After a long struggle (search “poop” and see how many posts come up) Noah has finally come to terms with the fact that poo belongs in the toilet. Turns out the breaking point was simply lying about the world’s supply of Noah-sized diapers. We warned him that we were running low, and that soon he’d be forced to poop in the toilet. It was a game of human waste chicken. Who would blink first?
Noah held out until the very last diaper, and then only held it in for a day before finally deciding the toilet wasn’t the spawn of satan (in regards to poop…peeing in the toilet has been no problem for months.) I got a call at work from a tiny voice saying, “DADDY I POOPED IN THE TOILET!!!” This time it wasn’t a wrong number.
So my life has changed in a very good way. I haven’t had to clean up anything resembling adult poop in over a week. It’s almost weird. He’s tells us when he’s going about 50% of the time, so sometimes you’ll just walk in on him, or it will be really quiet, and you’ll get suspicious.
“I NEED PRIVACY!”