May 2nd, 2009



In these here columns, I intended to make a post about tech-related stuff, because it's been a while and I was in a mood to anthropomorphize electronic components anyway.

Instead I must shed the recent horror right away by committing it to public words before it encysts in the back of my consciousness and leaves me forever traumatized:



The horror. You think it the sort of thing that only happens to others, like venereal diseases or baldness. And then... Everything goes so fast. You're holding your son in your arms, crooning soothingly to him so he falls asleep, and bam. By the time the sudden white-ish protrusion from the kid's mouth registers on you, your sleeve already feels warm and soggy.

But that, my friends, is but the beginning.

Like the small tremors that are followed by the big earthquake, it gets better. And there you are, assessing damage from what you think is the last one, but then another comes, and somehow, somehow, it's bigger still.

And there's this very slightly sick smell like warm curdled milk...

At least I guess I can be proud of my son's capacity. Dude.

Thank heavens for C., who materialized right away when I started bawling, and took charge, ever unflappable. (Sometimes I suspect she truly loves everything about her baby. I'm not gonna inquire.)

I'll tolerate babies when they bear half my genome, but baby puke remains right out. c_c

Well, bah. Something like this had to happen sooner or later, you know?

Then C. cleaned up and we sat for dinner. C. suggested we have ice cream for dessert, to make me feel better.

I said: "Maybe not dairy, love."