Poor Squid.

Back in the beginning, when he was still firmly ensconced in my uterus and was making me toss my cookies all over Orange County, he was featured heavily on this blog.

Then, when his lazy butt lingered FOREVER in my uterus and I went over two weeks overdue, I wrote about him all the time.

Then I gave birth.

And the Squid disappeared from this blog.

Oh, sure, his name appeared from time to time, but never as much as DragonMonkey’s.  He became a bit player – it was almost like this became “The DragonMonkey Blog”, and the Squid was just one of the props we featured from time to time.

There was a reason for that.

How the heck am I supposed to come up with a funny story out of a baby that sits around doing this all day?

From a writing perspective, it was just plain easier to write about the DragonMonkey.

You want proof?

I give you exhibit A:
 
This is a one hour car ride – and these photos were taken at the same time (well, seconds apart.)

                         The Squid.
               Cool.  Calm.  Happy.
So chilled out he looks borderline stoned.   The DragonMonkey.  No description necessary.

One of these photos is a cute picture.  One of these photos can be turned into a funny blog post.  ‘Nough said.

Squid was the baby that everyone wishes they had.  He came out smiling:

Squid made parenting seem so simple.  It was such a relief after the DragonMonkey. 

Everything made Squid happy.  Everything.

 

 

 

 

Now you know why.  You were just too good.

Now if we could just keep you from flushing stuff down the toilet, you’d be absolutely perfect.

Happy Birthday, Squid.

You’re two years old today, and I can’t wait to see the man you grow up to become.

It was too quiet upstairs.

“Squid?”

“Yeah, Ma?” 

I sighed, inwardly.  I hated it when he called me “Ma”.  It made me feel like I should weigh about 270 pounds, dress in rough homespun, and be driving a team of mules with my large, work-reddened hands.

“What are you doing?”

“I be good.”

Hmmm.  Doubtful.  Being good was never that quiet, so I left the dishes where they were and dried my hands on a towel as I made the journey up the stairs to the playroom.

When I arrived he was kneeling on the train table, his back to me.  At the sound of my steps  he turned around and held up a puzzle piece with a gigantic, toothy smile.  “See, Ma?  Good.  Be good.”

Huh, whattya know.  He was being good.

“You doing a puzzle, Squid?”

His smile grew even wider, his blue eyes innocent.  “Yeah, Ma!”

“Yes, Mama,” I corrected.

“Yeah, Ma!” he repeated.

Sigh. 

“Alright, you keep being good then.”  I went backstairs to finish cleaning up the oatmeal they’d splattered everywhere during breakfast.  Five or ten minutes passed, with him still silently doing puzzles upstairs.   I called up occasionally, to make sure he was still alive.

“Are you being good, Squid?”

“Be good!” he’d chirp back, in a happy tone.

Was it possible my almost two year old was some kind of child genius who could entertain himself quietly for 20 minutes straight, without moving, playing with a puzzle that was designed for 5 year olds?

Nope. 

My mom-senses tingling, I made my way to the playroom again.  Squid turned around at my approach, and held up the puzzle piece.

“See, Ma?  Be good.”  Smiling, he waved the puzzle piece at me…. in an attempt to distract me as he hunched his body forward, hiding something.  I took a few steps to the side… and saw the 5 pound bag of brown sugar he’d stolen from the countertop.

“SQUID!  DID YOU GET INTO THE SUGAR AGAIN?”  I stared down at him, at his sugar-encrusted face and hands, and at the open bag between his knees. 

He looked back up at me, blue eyes large, and shook his head.

“No, Ma.  No.  DagonMokey di’ it.”

Awesome.  Not even two years old and he already knows the fine art of lying. 

Whoever says they like little kids because they’re “so honest and forthright” sure hasn’t spent a lot of time hanging around them.