“I certainly hope for Bode’s sake that you forget that
story,” my co-worker Ashley said.
“I won’t,” I replied. “I’ll blog about it, and it will live
on forever.”
“Do you really have a blog anymore?”
Ouch.
The truth hurts.
Bode had his first Rock Star moment the other night. In this
case, I mean Rock Star as a noun and not an adjective.
I was changing his diaper and he was laid out on our bed. I
forgot to bring a clean diaper, so I walked around the corner to get one out of
the closet. When I returned, he had both hands, palms out, in front of his
chest. Most of the time, this is accompanied by him saying, “Hot!” As in, this
is too hot for me to touch, eat, etc.
It only took another two seconds for me to see what happened
immediately prior to this, as he repeated his movement.
He touched the top of his penis with his palm, raised his
hands again and this time I heard it…“Hot!”
“What?” I ask him curiously.
He did it again. Then he did it again. Unfortunately, Dede
wasn’t home to witness this.
I have to think it is not too far-fetched to imagine Keith
Richards, high as a kite after a concert, performing this same maneuver to the
delight of seven naked girls in his hotel suite. And Keith Richards, my
friends, is a Rock Star.
Do I hope Bode grows up to be Keith Richards? Not a bit.
But I like that he has some confidence at such a young age.
