Monday, November 28, 2005

Sartorial Suffering

Getting dressed is always a struggle. Why? I don't know. We always have to covertly dress him. D&D. Distract and dress.

Bill invented the "never put anything over his head" technique. Onesies go in from the feet up. This works pretty well if Arto is busy gnawing on some object or we starve him so that he's sucking on his bottle for dear life. Only then does the slipping on of the clothing item goes unnoticed. But this merely delays the inevitable putting on of the sleeves. We have yet to come up with a technique that will allow whine-free arm insertion. Sometimes, if we're lucky, we will only get an annoyed whimper and a what-th-f look. But at its worst (i.e. I'm waaaay past my naptime/bedtime) we get the full, back-arching, "I can't believe you're torturing me like this" wailing animal.

He just likes naked. Naked in the shower. Naked in the tub. Naked eating. Naked crawling around.

A new thing (well, I shouldn't say new -- the 18 week sonogram showed him doing this, which for us further confirmed his gender) he insists on doing whenever he's getting changed is to manually inspect "the family jewels." He will swat your hand back if you push his hand away from his urine- or Balmex-gooped privates. Drinking [milk] while holding on to his balls. I think we have a clear vote for nature in the age old argument here.