While Ezra is certainly quite skilled in several different areas - (barely) convincing his mother that he's still cute enough to be allowed to live even after eight weeks of waking up every two hours, all night long...for one - he fails to excel in a number of ways. He does unspeakable things to his diapers, he screeches like a rusty screen door in the early morning hours, he repeatedly refuses to do housework, and, most notably, he has very little control over his arms.
If I could control my hands, I would smite you!
Now, I enjoy seeing the look of surprise on his face after he's smacked himself in the forehead just as much as the next person (probably more); only the moreso if this event happens to follow or even (by the grace of God) interrupt a rusty screen door imitation. During feedings, however, the humor fails to make up for the inconvenience. Frankly, it was bad enough early on when he had so little control over his hands that he used to claw at his face like a rabid wolverine and attempt to gouge out his own eyes, at the same time, somehow mustering enough wherewithall to escape a tight swaddling like Houdini going over Niagara, but now, as he slowly develops the ability to command his little battering rams in only the vaguest way, it's gotten a bit out of hand. (hehe...out of...hand?...he...he...ANYWAY)
Yeah, you're not funny.
Like Indiana Jones attempting to procure the Holy Grail, only the penitent man shall pass the swirling windmill of his attempts to participate in the bottle feeding process. What does he want? To help hold the bottle? To hold my hand? To increase the speed and/or ease of food delivery? To use the damn thing like a finger bowl? How should I know?
Read my mind puny mortal!
I assume that the gesture is meant in a helpful way since he's contentedly eating the whole time I'm struggling with his unwieldy extremities, as opposed to the intent being to fend off my ridiculous attempts to provide him with life-giving sustenance (stupid woman), but somehow I've failed to convince him that his help is unnecessary, or rather, unwanted, or rather going to get him fed to a bear.
He'd have to face my fists of fury.
Now, swaddling we've already established is less than effective (see Houdini remark above), but it has not escaped my attention as I wrestle my darling little destroyer of worlds at the wee small hours of the morning that his father has a number of helpful things called saws, that could resolve this issue rather swiftly. Now, I"m certainly not saying that I would ever, even in a million years of sleepless nights, consider intentionally and willfully hacking off one (or both) of my childs limbs...I'm just saying accidents happen.
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