Baby W's had another medical check-up, and the pediatrician once again sang the praises of Baby W's penis, almost word for word the same as the last appointment, calling Baby W's penis "nice." Poor baby is going to get a complex, because is that the word you want describing your penis? David is going to ask the pediatrician to switch to the phrase "frighteningly large."
Baby W is in the 99th percentile for weight and the 96th for height, following in Stella's very large footsteps. David immediately took this as fodder for his side of the Should We Have Three Kids Debate, pointing out that we don't need to have a third kid since we basically already HAVE three kids. It's just that their mass is spread out over only two bodies. David is a little concerned that I have declared myself "interested" in the idea of three children, although I try to ease his mind by telling him that I find a lot of ideas interesting, such as trepanning or eating chocolate covered ants, but that interest doesn't necessarily lead to action.
I have been teaching Stella the Rock-Paper-Scissors game. She has developed a variation perfect for four year olds everywhere, called Rock-Paper-Scissors-HAMMER, where hammer is victorious over all. It goes like this:
Me: "Okay, I choose...rock [or scissors, or paper]."
Stella: "I choose hammer! SMASH SMASH SMASH!
Stella's approach adheres to neither the letter nor the spirit of the original game, yet it has a certain utility and I am going to use it the next time a friend suggests it as a method for determining who picks up the tab at a restaurant.
Friend: "I choose....scissors."
Me: "I choose hammer! SMASH SMASH SMASH YOU TO SMITHEREENS! I suggest a 20% tip."
I was also going to suggest that the U.S. use the Rock-Paper-Scissors-HAMMER method to settle international disputes but then I realize that is more or less what we've been doing for the past 50 or 60 years anyway. SMASH YOU.
Baby W is getting great joy these days out of sucking his thumb. (And it almost goes without saying that Stella is getting great joy these days out of popping Baby W's thumb out of his mouth.) I don't know why the word "thumbsucker" is considered an insult; from my perspective, thumb sucking is fantastic because it allows the baby to soothe himself. It's like the mental equivalent of five years of anti-anxiety therapy, just waiting to be discovered right on your hand. If adults caught on to how great thumbs were, sales of Paxil would plummet. I'm glad Baby W can suck his thumb to make him happy, but I have found something else that serves that purpose for me. Stand back and pass the chocolate covered ants.