My Thirty Minute Workout

This all happened in a thirty minute period yesterday:

Baby Boy arrived. He was happy, Happy, HAPPY!

He had slept for 12 and one half hours.

I had slept for oh, maybe six.

He brought me a bead he had found on the floor. This from the necklace he 'popped' during prayer last Tuesday. Yes, I vacuum, but those danged beads are still EVERYWHERE. When I said, 'Oh, thank you, give Beppe the bead.' He took it as an invitation to a chase. A chase which ended when he popped the bead into his mouth and I attempt to open his mouth by plugging his nose. I ended this episode with a funny story about my life with HIS mama, who put every single thing she ever saw into her mouth. Baby Boy didn't seem to find it funny, yet he took notes and shoved them deeply into his little brain.

Just a few minutes later, I noticed he had the 'YUM!" look on this little face. Yum? I hadn't given him anything yummy. So, I took off after him again. He can out run me, which isn't surprising. Again, I played the 'pinch the nose shut game'. Out popped a rather large piece of rock salt. He does have a 'thing' for salty foods. I didn't attempt any sort of 'reasoning' with him. I hate that vacuums do not pick up rock salt. At least I have never used one that does.

Now, I must tell you something about Baby Boy. He's 'yuck factor' is set to 'extremely sensitive'. A crumb on his finger? He will stick that finger into your eyeball until you properly remove the crumb. A tiny fragment of rice on his sleeve? Goodness. Much to flail the arms around about.

So, when I heard him making gleeful sounds in the next room, in the next room where I could STILL SEE HIM, I didn't think anything of it. He plays in that room all the time. It is as safe as I can get it. But really, I hadn't heard him make THAT exact happy sound before, so I investigated.

He was just playing with the kitty. Oh, wait. Not the kitty, the kitty was trying to find a way of escape, so that he might be able to bear it. Baby Boy was actually slapping his chubby little hand into a puddle of kitty puke.

I grabbed him up, holding his right arm airborne as I flew through the air with the greatest of unease to the nearest sink. All the while, he fought me in an attempt to play pat-a-cake with the gooey mess in his right hand. He was laughing. I was not.

Cleaned and disinfected, I grabbed his blanket, pacifer and a baby wipe and we slept through Bob the Builder. (a month ago, i could fool him into thinking that martha stewart was a frequent guest on bob the builder, but not anymore...)

While we slept, I don't know if it was a dream or not, but the kitty nudged me and ask 'Who taught the boy the Heimlich Maneuver'?