people always comment to me on how even-tempered mr. baby man is, and though i take this with a grain of salt becasue he's much better behaved when there are other people around (read: when the little ham has a larger adoring audience), i can agree that on the whole he is a pretty good little monkey.
that is, of course, unless i do the unthinkable. the unforgivable. if i commit the abusive, sadistic act of....cleaning off his hands with a damp paper towel!! aiiiiiiiiggggghhhhhh!!
seriously, every time i try to wipe him down a little after he eats—and therefore has half-chewed pretzel/corn pops/peas all over his hands—he writhes in his highchair like a lunatic, flailing his hands out of my grasp, squealing like a stuck pig, like i'm scrubbing him down with battery acid on a peice of sandpaper.
yesterday we went to the doctor to make sure that the little red spots that mr. baby man is sporting all over his chest and arms aren't fatal (they're not) (just an irritation, maybe bug bites), and she poked into his ears and shone bright lights into his eyes and prodded open his mouth with a stick and he sat there like a little buddha, blinking calmly at her.
so, to sum up: wooden stick to the throat? fine. gentle cleansing of hands with soft wet paper product? hell on earth.
someday i'm going to show him the shower scene from silkwood and tell him, "look! they're making like 1/4 of the fuss you make, and that's steel wool!"
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