Man-Zilla


a teensie Man-Zilla…too tiny to terrorize

My wee tiny baby has grown into a squirming, voracious, gnawing bundle of energy.

Man-zilla lives.

He is never still, nor full, nor satisfied with his most recent discovery.  There is always more to eat, grab at and explore.  I forgot how much of a workout diaper and clothing changes are at this age.  Sheesh!

My fearless babe now makes a beeline to crawl off the side of the bed, which he does fearlessly; and dangles there upside down, grinning wildly as he looks back up at me, red faced and panicked and clutching a handful of britches that I grabbed at the last second.

But he is the happiest little dude ever!  He has a big, toothy grin that he’ll flash for anyone at anytime.  We are all still very much in love with Man-Zilla.

The teeth make me nervous though.  Especially when he’s ready to nurse, and grins at me.  The boy has 8 teeth.  <shudder>

I composed a little poem, inspired by Lewis Carroll and Man-Zillas middle of the night feedings.

Jabbersloppy
Twas gruffusing and yanky sheets
All kicksy were thigh floppies
And piteous wails betrumpet he
Time to feed the Jabbersloppy

Jaws askimbo, head awaggling
Clingsy, rolling down aplop he.
Grappling paws and fangs a’ snaggling
Beware! The Jabbersloppy!

She takes the vorpal gourd in hand,
Long sought, the milky flow he won;
The Jabbersloppy surrenders full
And ushers peace back to the land.

Motherhood is not for the weak.

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