Game Over

Fuck, you guys.
Isaac is now crawling.
And it's not that I don't want him crawling, but yeah, he kind of called my bluff on the whole "parenting" thing. Upped the ante, if you will. He was all, oh yeah? You think you have this shit locked down? We'll see about that.

And yeah, I'm cursing again, because having a crawling 9-month-old is alot of stress, and it's either cursing or drinking, and I think we can all agree that dropping a few F bombs is preferable to throwing back a few scotches and taking the family on a Sunday drive.

Holla, 1950s

So my mom was all, well, what's your plan, and I was all, what plan? and she was all your plan for safeguarding the house and I was all I dunno, I guess I'll just follow him around and see what he gets in to and take it away from him before he electrocutes/burns/chokes himself.

And then I got that "I'm concerned about your parenting" look again, which is quite frankly getting a little old, but you know how it is with family: Up in arms every time your kid chews on an extension cord. Sheesh.

So Ike is crawling. Not totally crawling, but enough so when I put him down and go check the laundry, he's not there when I get back. Which is disconcerting, to say the least.

And then there's Simon....
Poor Simon, who would rather lay around than move, and sleep rather than be awake...
This kid is all about energy conservation.
The thing is, I get Simon.
He and I, we're on the same page.
We're like two very lazy peas in a pod. He lays on the floor and smiles at me, and I sit on the couch and smile back, and we're all very happy with this arrangement.
But then this other one comes crawling by, grabing Simon's toy and assaulting my coffee cup, wanting to do things and, between you and me, being a total buzz-kill. And I'm all like, Isaac, maybe you should just chill the fuck out for a second and he's all like either you let me go or I'll scream till the rafters come down, so I have no choice but to release him, and seconds later I've lost him under the couch.
Again.

It's quite a problem.

Playpens help to contain him.
Barely:

Like, woah, right?

This kid is nuts.

He totally takes after his father.
Brian is what us "low-energy" folks like to call...a spazz. He can work a 24 hour shift at the firehouse and then come home and BBQ up some mean dinner. WITH appetizers and cheesecake dessert. And while I fully appreciate his ability to be productive for DAYS on end, it totally mystifies me.

Because I'm the person equivalent of a sloth:
I'd be completely happy spending the rest of my life wedged into the crotch of a tree, chewing on a bamboo shoot.

So you'd think that a high-energy person like him and a low-energy person like me would make moderate-energy babies. Like the energizer bunny mating with a vacuum to create the Roomba.

What?
Whatever.

But no.
We have one kid who lays around like a lump on a log, and another kid who gets meth-eyes every time he's still for more than 30 seconds.

It's more than a little ridic.

I'm sure it'll work out in the end.
Simon and I will sit in the house and watch paint dry while Isaac and Brian go outside and do whatever it is that spazzes do...like run around in circles with their hands in the air or whatever.

But for now, I'm left watching this little crazy person, completely baffled by his desire to move around, and trying my best to keep up with him while he log-rolls down the basement steps.

Oy.