Family Update: Part Trent

My mother called a few days ago, wondering what size pajamas to buy Trent for his birthday, and when I told her that his bulk required a 3T, she laughed, but did not question me at all. A 3T he got, and he looks like sausage links in them. It's so cute, I almost want to eat him, but that might encourage his biting habit.

I've never had to deal with a biter before; spitting we can handle. But the more I flick Trent's mouth for every offense, the more he laughs and tries to catch us off guard with his little razor teeth. He is a truly happy boy if he can get us to scream and fling him across the room in reflexive self-defense. His subsequent laugh is so catching that we really have to work hard to keep a straight face as we reprimand him and nurse our wounds.

Biting is definitely his specialty, as can be demonstrated by his consumption of food. Thanksgiving night I sat down on my mom's living room floor to share my pumpkin pie with him. Trent took one bite, and then used my rib cage to scale my body and attack my plate. He stopped just short of actually climbing in my mouth to steal my pie. He will eat anything, including pencil erasers and books, but continues to turn his nose up at scrambled eggs and grilled cheese sandwiches, unless I disguise those items with either mounds of salsa, or pieces from Cameron's Lego set.

Our last baby is still sporting reddish hair, and we're thinking that he'll keep it. His Nana loves it, and I have to keep reminding her that it isn't nice to continually tell Trent that he is the best grand-baby ever and that slipping him chocolates when she thinks the other kids aren't looking borders cruelty. (And if you believe me on that one, then looking up the definition of facetious should be added to your to-do list. And that shall be the last time that I state such a suggestion. Next time, you'll just be left to believe everything I say.) Trent has just started to do well at keeping his balance when we stand him up, but walking will probably be a ways off because it's hard to keep that balance when moving such a large mass.

For his birthday, Trent got one of those old-fashioned toys that has pegs in a hole and the kids are meant to hammer the pegs down and then flip it over and hammer them again. Drew and Bryan took to this toy like they'd been doing it all their lives instead of just pooping and making messes, but Trent just held the hammer in his left hand and sucked on the end of it. I took it upon myself to teach him how to hammer. Seems like a father's job, but really, all Andrew has a desire to teach his kids is that the kitchen sink can double for a trash can. Men. Anyway - I sat down with Trent to show him how the hammer can pound the pegs into the holes, and he was quite excited by the concept. He hit a peg with boisterous enthusiasm, and I clapped and said, "Yey!" to encourage further annihilation of the pegs. Trent hit another peg, looked at me with expectant eyes, and was rewarded with more praise and clapping. Then he lunged forward and beat the schnaz-bat out of my knee. I cried out in pain, but only for a moment, because Trent obviously didn't mind what kind of reaction he got for his hammering as long as there was some kind of exclamation. I gave him a stern, "No, No! We only hit the pegs with the hammer. Not people." And then he giggled and walloped me again, right in the same spot as before. So I got up and left him there with his toy, refusing to be tenderized like a cheap steak. Next thing I know, he has carted the hammer over to me and is flashing a toothy grin and has a glint of evil in his eye. I took the hammer away and now I'm afraid to turn my back on him. I should have known that the moment Drew began to resemble a decently behaved child, he would be replaced. I just never figured that it would be Trent filling his shoes.