A Triad of Gross...
Lately all I write about are two things: theatre and my baby eating gross things. Since the last post was about theatre what do you suppose this one is about? That's right. The adventures of Jackson, the hand-to-mouth superhero.

I was going to spare you all the details of my life as a mouth guardian, but there were three events in the space of two days. And for some reason when things come in threes it makes me feel a hint of destiny. So here goes - apologies to the squeamish.

Yesterday morning, about 7ish, Jackson played happily amongst his toys. He had taken a number of his books and flung them here and there and was having a grand old time. I was watching TV in a way-too-early kind of funk. Then out of the corner of my eye I noticed the little boy chewing. Yup. In my house, when the boy chews and it isn't mealtime, I know there's trouble. I got down on the floor with him and investigated. With my practiced pinky I fished in his mouth and pulled out what looked like a chunk of cat food. "Hmm," I thought. "How did he get cat food? He didn't go near the bowl." Then I noticed a small pile of cat-food substance on the dark-colored rug next to his stack of books. Guess it didn't agree with the cat so she decide to regurgitate it.

OMG!!!!! My baby ate a mouthful of regurgitated cat food!!! And the little shit was pissed at me when I dug it out of his mouth, cleaned it off of his hands and refused to let him have it. I will totally be telling this story to his first girlfriend.

This morning, same time, same place. Different disgusting object. This time I saw it at the same time he did. A cricket, a big, fat, dead cricket, curtesy of the cat. Picture the slow motion dive I made from the recliner as Jackson closed his fist around the bug. "Nooooo, don't eat that!!!!" I yelled. I reached him in the nick of time and grabbed his little arm. I didn't want to touch the bug myself (eww, gross) so I took his wrist and started shaking it yelling "Drop it, drop it, drop it!" Poor little Jackson dropped the bug but was scared to death and looked at me with wonder - why had his mommy just gone off the deep end? I hugged and comforted him, simply grateful that I didn't have to pinky-search his mouth for dead cricket parts.

The third event was less exciting, just a disaster averted. As I picked up all the toys and tupperware strewn about my living room this afternoon, I found the fresh carcass of a small lizard. Tailless and plump and as beige as my carpet. I distracted Jackson with a legitimate snack, (an animal cracker, not an animal corpse) and kept him from the choice morsel on the carpet till his Dad got home. This one I let him clean up.

What is up with the cats? I know, I know, they are gifts. They want to help feed the baby of the house. But he's about to be a year old! Why can't they just acknowledge that he hasn't starved thus far and stop trying to help me mother? They are worse than any mother-in-law. At least she doesn't suggest I feed the baby crickets...