King Crab Legs, Oysters on the Half Shell, Shrimp

You know, baby food. 

Being a boy-dad has its perks.  

• When R.L. mashes his finger in a cabinet door, I get to say, "Dry up boy.  It's a long way from your heart."  (And I kiss his 10 1/2 month old hand.)
  
• I lie on the floor on my back with him at my side tossing a tennis ball in the air over and over and over and over.  He's already trying to catch it.  
• I spray him in the face with the hose on the kitchen sink.  He loves it, and Mama does too, now.  Just says, "You boys."  (I catch her doing it sometimes.)
• I buy baseball cards for his collection, guns for him to shoot with me someday.
• I will always own a truck so I can give it to him when he starts to drive.
• I will laugh when he picks up a dried dog turd and chases me with it, and I call his poop doo-doo.
• We'll discuss the differences between centipedes and millipedes in depth.
• We'll have thousands of nicknames for each other.
• I'll teach him about beer and bats and fire and traps, sharp knives and boots and go-karts and hats, jock straps and girls and edible plants and DIRT BOMBS!

So when Dad took us out for supper at The Flying Fish, it was high time to start the kid in on some serious family-boy eatin'.  The joint has fabulous, fresh seafood and great atmosphere any time of the year.  We ordered half the menu and watched Bobby Bowden and the Seminoles win another bowl game.  Romulus ate King Crab legs, raw oysters, fried shrimp, boiled shrimp, hushpuppies.  And crackers, crackers are good for babies.  He devoured all of it and begged for more, but Mama grew increasingly adamant that enough was enough.  When we put him down that night he was pleasantly fatigued and slept like a log.

He arose especially chipper (a nickname I'm toying with--Littleman's already a huge Braves fan and he does look like his daddy).  The look in his eye seemed to say, "Are you experienced, Dad?  I am."  And then he took his first poop since the momentous occasion.  He didn't sit in it long.  I knew when he had done it.  But when I changed his diaper, it looked like someone had taken a blowtorch to his ass.  That seafood doo-doo was radioactive.  Chipper didn't even know it yet either, until it was time to wipe.  

When Mama took him to his pediatrician yesterday, the lady had to leave the room for a minute when she saw.  She was nice about it and all, but there was no mistaking it, I had messed up.  She advised H to sharply advise me to EDUCATE myself about the foods a 10/11 month old should be eating and to acknowledge that what I had done was "not very smart."  The doctor cooked up a little potion that she named Butt Balm and sent H on her way to straighten me out.  

Last night, R.L., Dad, M.C., K.C., H, and I were in the dining room at dinner passing dishes family style.  I started to feed the boy some Italian Chicken, an old family recipe and staple menu item in our home.  I was quickly put in check by the entire table--in unison, and we had a good laugh.  But Chipper didn't think it was so funny.  That boy wants to eat.

I can't wait for him to scrape his knee for the first time.  I'm ready.  When he comes to me crying, I'll smirk and say, "Rub a little a dirt in it Son."  (And then I'll clean it up and teach him his first lesson in Basic First Aid.)    

--MJF