Thursday, November 30, 2006

By the Grace of God

That kid might (might) survive being raised by me. Prime example:

While in Florida with Lisa's folks, we had put him down to bed and were playing cards. He woke up after an hour or two and started crying. I volunteered to go in and check him and to make sure his diaper was dry/clean. After 9 months, we've learned that the quickest way to make this determination is to pick him up by the armpits, raise his waist to nose-level, and sniff.

So, I went into the darkened office that was serving as Clay's nursery, pulled him out of bed and hugged him for a little bit to comfort him. Then I lifted him up for his diaper check -- I had barely begun to sniff when I heard, "Thunk Thunk Thunk" from the general region of Clay's head. I quickly lowered him, wondering what was on the ceiling that might make such a noise, only to realize that "Thunk Thunk Thunk" was the sound of Clay's head intersecting, at a regular beat, with the ceiling fan that we had turned on to keep the room cool.

Needless to say, I felt awful. Absolutely terrible. But he seemed to get over it quickly. He cried for a moment or two, and then went back to bed. I can tell you if someone stuck my head in the ceiling fan, it would take me far longer than a few minutes to get over it.

I went outside, green with angst, and performed my mea culpa to Lisa and her family. They were extremely gracious: limiting themselves to no more than 5 coma jokes each.

In any case, he's likely to grow up to be a tough little bugger (assuming he matriculates from the School of Scott).


Post a Comment

<< Home