Its funny that question should be asked. Our son has a very short name, and his nickname lengthens his name. And also, a few months after he was born he inherited the term monkey or monkey man, which he lives up to very well. He's full of energy, he hates sitting still so much that sometimes if he's sitting he bounces just to keep moving, he climbs onto everything with amazing skill and he loves to jump. So, monkey man works quite well. And so from that point onward monkey man is his moniker, his pen name, his pseudonym (what a cool word).But my daughter's nickname was bestowed upon her at an earlier age, less than a week old. When our son, the aforementioned monkey man was born, Lisa's mom came for his birth and when he was just a month old her entire family came to see him. My mom didn't meet him until he was over two months old, and my dad until he was six months old. I think it was decided all around that my parents should meet our daughter at an earlier age, so this time they came for the birth.
Having grown up entirely in Alaska, minus a six year hiatus in California, Alaska is the place my family calls home. Even my dad, though he claims to be a San Diegan, knows deep down that Alaska is his home too. This visit for my daughter's birth was their first trip home in five years, so I think they looked forward to it as much as we did.Of course the trip did have a couple of disappointments. My parents came up about a week before our daughter's due date, and our daughter was more than a week late, leaving them just less than a week to spend time with her. Worse, when they left, my wife and I and my parents couldn't help but realize that we have no idea how long it will be before they see their grand kids again. Hopefully no more than a year, hopefully less even. It was hard, because my dad doesn't cry, yet the day they left, as he cuddled with his grandson, played with him, held his granddaughter, he couldn't stop his tears from falling-which was a blessing to me because it made me feel less silly for having the same problem but mostly because it shows me how much my dad loves his grand kids. We expected it from my mom, but not from dad. It was a tough morning to say the least.
Our daughter, already showing a bit of personality, decided to cut the tension by providing some levity. When mom went to change my daughter's diaper, the water flowed, and not just flowed, but squirted at an amazing angle, hitting her grandmother. Mom was quick to cover the stream with a diaper an waited until she thought the baby was done.And, as she pulled the diaper away, she breathed a sigh of relief. No more pee on me she thought. And it was then we heard the sound that those sour cream tubes make when you squish the skinny end and the sour cream squirts out to hit a future divisional commander (my sister's experience, not mine). All eyes turned to my mom, as we watched lumpy mustard squirt at an upwards angle at my mother, getting all over her shirt. The room broke with laughter as we gazed in awe wondering how the projectile poo managed to go that distance at that angle. More than anything, we were glad to have a time to laugh, and I personally was glad it was my mom getting hit and not me.
That is, until the sequel, squirt II. As I changed her diaper a few weeks later, first came the stream, which I blocked (most of anyway). And as soon as I thought she was done, I took two steps back and moved the diaper. Torpedoes away! Lumpy mustard came straight at me, hitting me in the stomach, even after two steps away. When I moved in to put the diaper up, again, came her second round, this time squirting me higher. Of course my wife was no help, all she could do was laugh, and how rude of her. It was definitely funnier when my mom was attacked by little squirt than me. Since that time, squirt she has been. And even now at three months old she lives up to her name. Last week I was laying on my back with her, playing super baby holding her up in the air. I'm always cautious when I do this because I've heard stories of me puking in my dad's mouth at her age. But, caution aside, my son saw us playing, got jealous and came over to grab his sister. As I held on to her while telling him to keep his hands off her, I didn't see her face turn red. I had no warning, when I turned around to look at her after my son had calmed down, all I saw was bird poop spewing from my baby's mouth coming right at mine like a mother bird feeding her babies but in reverse.
So, I quickly moved out of the way, after contemplating which was worse, my face or the two year old carpet getting spewed on and chose my face being worse. But, I didn't move quick enough. Baby spew is not good shampoo or conditioner. Some have asked why I call my daughter squirt, but after reading this, do you?
BLT says..........sometimes a name can explain so much.
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