Sam’s Story: Week 27

Slow week. Sam has continued her way into the cornucopia of solid food, tackling sweet potatoes this week. Unfortunately I don’t think they agree with her, as last night she spontaneously covered Geralyn in orange projectile vomit. And I mean covered. Ger came running into the office holding Sam out to me at arm’s length and jibbering something about needing to do laundry again. Sam had a look on her face like “Hi, Daddy! Guess what I just did?”

Another side effect of the sweet potatoes is that Sam hasn’t pooped in almost three days. I think she’s got a hollow leg, ’cause I don’t know where else she could be keeping it. I do know, however, that when the time comes she will have such a massive, explosive bowel movement that it’ll get all over me even if I’m at work when it happens.

Speaking of feces, Geralyn and I have decided to clean up our own potty-mouths. We’re pretty good while in public or while talking to priests, but we’ve both been known to drop the occasional F-bomb. Or S-bomb. Or J-bomb. Geralyn practically carpet-bombed me the other day when the batteries in the camera died, and I did no better the day before when I couldn’t get the sound in Deus Ex 2 to work.

So to keep Sammie from turning into a little Dick Cheney, we’ve made a game out of cleaning up our language. Whenever one of us catches the other one using a naughty word within Sam’s hearing, I get a point. So if Ger drops an F-bomb on the phone when it rings during Sam’s nap, I get a point. If I curse a blue streak at the cat for trying to drink out of my water glass, Ger gets a point. So does the cat, I guess. The one with the most points at the end of the week wins.

Given that Ger and I can be competitive once we decide the game’s worth playing, this should work out nicely. It will not, however, solve the impending fight over how we teach our daughter to pronounce “caramel.” No game will resolve that conflict, and I fear that it may cast Samantha into a mental asylum where she rocks in a corner muttering “car-ah-mel, car-mel, car-ah-mel, car-mel, so sweet, so sweet, car-ah-mel, car-mel…”

For those of you playing Baby Bingo at home, Sam is rolling over fine at this point (has been for a while, actually) but she’s yet to sit up on her own. She can wobble in place for a moment if you sit her up, but eventually looses it and topples over on her back. Her new favorite position, though, is to sit in the crook of my left arm while I hold her. She then puts one hand on my shoulder and leans back a bit so she can check out the world and better aim her sweet potato projectile vomit.

And now, some pictures: