dr. igor vom plosion

This post starts out fairly cutesy, and degenerates into disgusting. You have been warned.

I assume that most new parents have multiple pet names for their little one. Favorites probably include things like “Bunny,” “Peanut,” and “Shnookums.” We have our fair share, too, and we seem to rotate through them for no apparent reason.

Sometimes we call her “Little Bun Bun,” which has a good Chinese equivalent, “Shao Bao Zi.” I suppose this evolved from the fairly standard “Little One,” which at some point became “Little One One.” I have also found myself mixing things up and calling her “Little One Bun,” which really makes no sense at all, so I’m trying to remove that one from the rotation lest she gets a complex.

We also have a few that are based on her red hair color, including “Molly O’Grady” and simply “Red.” When her hair manages to arrange itself in its most horrible configuration of a strange part right down the middle, Susan calls her “Marvin” (no offense to any real Marvins out there). And then there is “Pete,” because when her hair is all slicked down, she really does just look like a Pete.

And then there are the ones based on excretions, like “Little Stinker” and “Poopy McPooperton.” And of course, referenced in the title of this post, “Dr Igor Vom Plosion.” Our baby does have a way-above-average tendency to barf, sometimes arcing for a considerable distance. I usually measure the severity of the incident by estimating the diameter of the puddle that appears on the floor, assuming she clears the burp cloth (now *that’s* a euphemism if I’ve ever heard one; burps do not require cloths). Many a time has one of come into the room with Exie over our shoulder, turned around, and asked, “Did she get me?” The answer, more often than not, is yes. The worst is the cheesy variety, which usually means that It Came From the Meal Before (a great B-horror movie, if you haven’t seen it). Clothes that need to be changed, hair that is all stuck together, yucko. Okay, I lied. The *worst* is when I’ve chosen a bad time to fly her over my head, which she now enjoys. She’s looking down, I’ve got my mouth and eyes wide open (her favorite face) and I’m pressing on her tummy. It happened so fast that I couldn’t even close my mouth. Blech. That was yesterday. Fortunately, we had a repeat performance today just in case I hadn’t learned my lesson. Yum yum yum. I asked Susan to take a picture to memorialize the incident, but it was so gross she refused.

All that said, Exie doesn’t have many other problems, so it doesn’t seem fair to complain about her propensity to barf, but we’re definitely looking forward to the time when we don’t have to change her clothes quite so often or always carry multiple bibs and burp cloths.