Who's the Boss?

At an intimidating 2ft tall, 20 pound frame and with the bite of a pit bull, Gavin Bryan is on a roll. In a matter of two weeks he's learned how to crawl at the speed of sound, walk at the pace of a drunken midget, lunge himself from furniture in Ultimate Warrior fashion, go up the stairs, open cabinets, eat dog food and splash their water, use the full capacity of his healthy little lungs to shout and dance to any funky beat. Little punk knows what he wants and when he wants it. I thought I was supposed to be the boss here? NOT THE CASE.

Baby food? What's that? Homie likes that grown folk grub. Let me lay it out for you... this future linebacker's menu goes as such... Rice and Beans (c'mon, I'm Cuban, you knew that was coming), Red Meat, Chicken, Fish, Macaroni and Cheese, Sushi (cooked), lasagna, etc. Add on top of that 21 ounces of whole milk and you have a diaper full of fun.... at least three of them a day. NEVER IN MY LIFE could I have imagined that such an adorable little human being can produce such a potent and powerful punch in a matter of seconds. And you can tell when it's coming too. He gets super red and he holds his breath when he pushes... You can tell in his face that he's thinking, "Yeah, pops. This one's for you. Mom says you deserve this one for not plugging in the TiVo." Mom misses her novela, I get to change a diaper containing weapons of mass destruction that i believe our government is actually looking for somewhere in the Middle East. They're over here, Mr. Bush! And I've been quietly containing the threat in Kendall without complaint.

The average person goes to the gym to do cardio, or goes for a morning jog. I, on the other hand, change diapers. Karla, bless her soul, does it most of the time, which probably explains her recent weight loss. But when I do, it's like disarming a bomb every time. He twists and turns, giggles and bounces... I try to contain his behavior but I've got one finger stuck in a tub of Desitin, a bandana laced with febreeze over my nose and mouth to block the radiation eminating from this little thing's bunghole, two little feet in the other hand, and trying to place and seal a diaper at the same time. Literally, that's like 1200 calories burned right there. Fuck the gym, have a child..

But before he poops it, he's got to eat it, right? Feeding this bottomless little pit is no easy task. He's discovered that if you don't like it, you don't have to swallow it. Instead you can shoot it out of your mouth in dad's direction faster than Palin can take down a moose. As cute as it is to see him spit it out (if you can actually see thru the food dripping off your eyelids), it's quite the mess. Luckily I have two dogs that are more than willing to act as vacuum cleaners. Sometimes they don't even have to wait for Gavin to toss it or spit it out. Gav's more than happy to feed them when I'm not looking.

Parenthood has been quite the experience, almost a year in and I find myself doing the craziest, oddest, most absurd shit ever... I find myself dancing in every mall store because little man needs to shake his wild thang to the music being played, creating the most ridiculous of contraptions (two chairs, a pair of shoes, and a changing pad) to block the stair case until we get the gate to block it. My dogs eat their food like its the last meal on earth because their's a new predator in town and he also walks on four, he can strike at any time, and he comes silently.

Crazy as he is, detrimental to society and global warming as his diapers might be, demanding as the situation is, I wouldn't have it any other way. The payoff comes in his smile, his giggle, his attempts at a kiss. He's got me by the huevos and i'm not ashamed to admit it.

See what I mean....