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Infants, Biters and Bears – Oh My!

Reading Time: 5 minutes

Welcome to the new year, everyone! I hope it’s been a smooth transition. I’d love to tell you all that we have MAJOR plans for this year; we’ve set smart goals and committed to fantastic feats of discipline!

But that would be a lie. We’re absolutely still winging it. Nothing makes sense and there’s never enough wine, so we’re just taking it a day at a time. 

One of the exciting things that might happen this year though, is the lawsuit I’ll be filing against the hospital where Chief was born. It has become evident that somewhere during our birthing process, the staff switched my sweet baby boy with a literal bear cub. 

I first grew suspicious on the day we took him home. All the literature says that a newborn’s stomach is the size of a cherry, and they can only drink a teaspoon of milk at a time. Not this child! He would nurse every 90 minutes, easily 2 – 3 ounces at a go. He more than doubled his birth weight by 3 months old, and by 5 months was on his way to being a giant. 

Lucky for this cub, I am a dairy cow and have an oversupply of milk.

I shrugged it off. MisterE and I have a fair share of tall people in our family, so I figured the Chief had just picked up on a gargantuan gene. 

But then came the teeth. Not adorable, delicate baby teeth, no. His two front teeth might as well be canines. On more than one occasion I’ve nearly lost a nipple. 

I know, I know, I should probably stop breastfeeding the guy for my own safety.  But the literature says that if I want him to speak five languages and graduate from Harvard at the age of 9, I have to breastfeed him until he’s 10. Just nine-and-a-half more years to go! 

All I’m saying is that if my son is one day going to invent technology that could save your life, you’re going to want to know that he was breastfed. 

At around seven months old, Chief started to growl and snort. I took note, because that is when Hurricane said her first word. (It was “mama,” for anyone wondering. Because I’m the best parent). To be fair, Hurricane is not the standard by which to measure my son. She was speaking three word sentences by 14 months old, which I now realize is not normal  usual

That said, Chief seems to be using these growls and snarls as a means of communication. “Aggargh,” means “feed me.” 

“Grrruuuuuuarhhh,” means “feed me, now!” 

If the above two sentences are not understood, he simply sits straight up, maintains eye contact and screams until I put food directly into his mouth. 

So loud but so cute!

Is anyone else envisioning a circus bear? You should be, because meal-times are a circus and my son is a bear. 

He recently learned a new skill that has changed my life forever. 

If my son ever coos and gazes lovingly into your eyes, BEWARE! He’s about to shred your face. Imagine, if you will,  a starving bear swiping desperately at fast-swimming salmon. I happen to have large (irresistible) lips, so no matter how quickly I react he gets me with his unreasonably sharp claws. My lips are so covered in cuts and scratches that I can no longer eat spicy food. It feels like dipping my face into a vat of acid. I’m on a bland diet now, and I have lost three miserable pounds. Life changing.

I made the unfortunate mistake of sleep-training him two months ago. I thought it would be nice to sleep like a normal human, and I wasn’t entirely wrong. But there were unforeseen consequences. On the first night while he cried, he began to chew on the rails of his crib. And so began his obsession with gnawing on furniture.

The legs of my couch are covered in pint-sized tooth marks and the edge of my end table looks serrated. I often play a game with him that I call “Is this furniture or food?” and his answer is always “yes.”

Why eat a perfectly prepared meal of avocado, plantain, coconut rice or shredded chicken when you can eat a tray?

He recently discovered my elbow and it’s become a particular favorite chew toy, along with my forearm, knuckles, and shins. Truth be told, I no longer use body lotion, I just rub myself down with Neosporin.

I know what you’re thinking… that I’m being dramatic! I won’t argue the point, but text me if you’re brave enough to babysit. I could really do with some time to go on a date with MisterE. I’m thinking we’ll spend a romantic evening in Urgent Care getting my bites properly treated. Perhaps a rabies shot, for good measure. 

Despite all of the above, my suspicions were not confirmed until last night. Chief loves to chew on books. No book is safe in this house, except the one I read him last night which has bears on the cover. BEARS! Well, at least I know he’s not a cannibal. 

Anyway, everything I’ve written is the evidence I will be submitting in my case against the hospital. I’m not asking for a lot, just a refund on my labor and delivery fees, because as far as wild animals go Chief is just SO stinking cute. I think I might want to keep him. 

It’s hard not to forgive this face. He’s got me wrapped around his chubby little fingers.

On a serious note though, does anyone know how to stop a cub from biting? He’s starting at Montessori in February and at this rate he’ll be expelled by March. Thanks in advance. 

Have fun!

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Hi, I'm Chioma Ikoku, a spirited explorer and a peace-loving homebody. I founded Casa Diem Life to help you combine the excitement of travel with the comfort of home, because I believe that adventure begins at home.

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