Cutting the cheese: a story of flatulence.

I hope everyone enjoyed their Thanksgiving. Ours was filled with turkey, jalapeno poppers, pie, and booze. We had a blast at a friend’s house, Kash was acting like a crazy person, and we didn’t set the house on fire with the turkey fryer. I’d say that is a win. We also went to a couple more craft shows (didn’t sell much again) and spent the rest of the week relaxing and reorganizing the house. Lincoln got his very own high chair and brand new car seat, while Kash continued to act like a crazy person. We still love her anyways.  The wife decided to begin decorating prior to turkey day, and I took no part in it. (I fundamentally disagree with Christmas decorating before Thanksgiving) It’s been a couple of weeks since I had written anything, the break did me some good.  I took leave from work and focused on our other business venture and spent time helping the wife organize the house.

There are few things that will bring a tear to a man’s eye, Old Yeller, Cubs winning the World Series, or watching his brand new 1000” TV for the first time, to name a few.  Every once in a while, I shed a tear or two, and it mostly centers around my kids (here I am getting all soft and stuff).  Watching my son grow up has been eye-opening. When I w him lift his leg and give the 1-man salute, I shed a tear, because I am proud.

At 6 months old, our son weighs 20lbs 10oz. He is in the 94 percentile in weight and height and the 92 percentile in dome (head) piece size.  He weighs 9 lbs less than our daughter (she is 3).  He enjoys being tossed in the air, eating, and is a total flirt.  He already has developed a special look for the ladies and also has a girlfriend who is older than him (one of Krissi’s friends).  He is usually never fussy (except when hungry or tired) and is mostly happy.  Sitting up on his own is something he has almost mastered (his dome piece makes him a tad bit top-heavy) and he can roll around the floor with the best of them.  He is our ham hock, big fella, hot rod, my bud and the wife’s sweet guy. He is perfect. He also can clear a room when he drops a bomb, and it’s glorious.

There was one day, while he was in his pack-and-play, that I was playing with him.  He was giggling while trying to get the toy from my hand. All of the sudden, his face went from playful to serious, he lifted his right butt cheek and farted. It wasn’t one of those cute farts that woman or kids have, it was deep and loud. I was taken aback for a second. “Did that just happen?” I thought to myself. He was only about 4 months old at the time, but he had let one rip as if he was 45, sitting in his recliner drinking beer and watching the foosball. I then told him “Hell yea, son!” and proceeded to continue playing with him.  Later on I told my wife what had happened, she didn’t believe me (this would become a trend when it came to his flatulence).

This next little moment is what prompted me to write about his ability to lay a wind loaf.  While Kash was at her dad’s house (that’s a whole other topic), Krissi and I were downstairs going through boxes while Lincoln was chillin’ in his bouncy chair. Krissi’s back was to me and I let one rip. She asked me who it was and I pointed at my son (yes, I attempted to blame a fart on him, sue me).  She didn’t believe me, and I gave in and told her it was me. Later on after we went to bed……

Side Note: We have been transitioning him into a crib from his bassinet.  He hasn’t slept a full night yet and is almost too big for it.  He isn’t a fan of his crib yet, but some more sleepless nights and he will be fine.

He awoke screaming and crying (usually does initially until you get a bottle in his mouth) in his crib. After feeding him, he was wide awake.  I figured I would change his diaper even if it didn’t need it. While I had him on the floor, he let a big one rip. This wasn’t a silent but deadly, this was a freight train rolling down the tracks and the stench of your septic tank overflowing.  This backdoor breeze woke the wife up.  Once again she asked if it was me or him. I pointed at him. She didn’t believe me.  I couldn’t keep a straight face.  He was giggling, I was giggling, the mouse in the corner was giggling. I kept telling her that it was legitimately him, but she wasn’t having it. (Guess I deserved it) Once I wrangled him back into a diaper and pajamas, he fell back asleep.

Fast forward to a few days ago.  The wife is upstairs with him putting clothes away (as she should be) and witnessed my son lift his right leg and butt cheek and play his trouser trumpet. She told me about it and all I could do is say “weird” and give her a told you so look.  She still doesn’t believe me about the other night, but I have until death do us part to prove my case.

There are more than just my son’s rectal honks that make me proud of him.  He has been eating baby food in his high chair, learning about the small world around him, and even figuring out how to say da-da (this happened a couple of days ago).  He continues to surprise me every day (his sister does too). I look forward to watching him grow into a man.

Do work, be rad


1 thought on “Cutting the cheese: a story of flatulence.

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