Beachbound

Tomorrow morning, we leave for the beach.

I've been going to the Outer Banks for as long as I've lived in DC. My first job (after an internship with my hometown Congressman - for which I was not paid - and the concurrent job as a bartender - for which I did not need a college diploma) was as a program instructor for the Close Up Foundation. If you're not familiar with the group, they bring high school kids to DC for a week to teach civics on-site. For example, students are brought to the Lincoln Memorial and spend a half an hour learning about the Civil War or the Civil Rights Movement and then get some free time to explore the monument.

I met some of my best friends at that job. While the working conditions were abysmal (and probably illegal), neither Peter, Jerry, nor Christian would be part of my life if not for Close Up. At the end of the program year in the spring (as Close Up turned all the instructors out onto the street for five months without pay or health insurance), the instructors used their new-found free time to go to the Outer Banks for a week.

We saved all year for the trip. We received part of our pay in cash each week (ahem), and would dedicate five or ten dollars of it to the beach fund. By spring, we would have enough money to get a house. The places were six or eight lots back from the water, and we used every bed and all available couch space.

When I returned to the Hill as a paid (perhaps that word should be in airquotes) employee, our office featured the same youthful, impoverished vibe that Close Up had. I assembled a group of colleagues and fellow softballers, and we headed to the beach at the end of August Recess.

The first houses were similar to the Close Up ones, a hefty walk from the ocean and cheap. As the group aged and got promoted or became lobbyists, the houses improved. Oceanfront only. Must have a private pool. One bathroom per bedroom, please.

The beach house mood has shifted again, as my friends and I have taken our places as part of the breeder class. We stayed at this house back in 2002, and here are some photos from that trip. We're playing Flip Cup.

Yeah, he's pretending to pee on her. It was required.

That's underwear on their heads. I'm not sure what else to say about this.

This year the house will contain four children under 4. I'm guessing there will be less Flip Cup, but I make no guarantees. Either I'll post a lot or absolutely never while we're down there. If it turns out to be never, have a good week.

There's a Wocket in my Pock -- Shit.

Maybe this is an old rant, but I'm going to make it again: Why are there no pockets in maternity clothes?

If you're silly enough to get knocked up, is it assumed you will no longer need to carry items on your person? If you're carrying another person inside you, is it assumed you will have someone else hold any item you might need? (Okay, I do this. I make Bump hold/tote all my stuff.)

Are designers worried about ruining the "line" in maternity wear? Because, line? Please. There is no line. I'm a fat lady. Give me a damn pocket.

Adding to the insult - or maybe just to piss me off even further - little boys' clothes have tons of pockets.

Seriously. Tons. Even the baby stuff.

A baby? Why, yes. A baby will need pockets for lot of things. Rocks, sticks, that hot chick's phone number, etc. But a grown woman? A grown woman who doesn't want to carry her entire briefcase around the office all the time? A grown woman on her way to the carryout who really just needs some cash and maybe her work ID? Why the hell would she need a pocket?

In a single pair of pants, Lumpyhead could carry his wallet, keys, cellphone, work ID, spare change, and a condom all in separate pockets. Lumpyhead's cargo shorts: 6 pockets. My pants: 0 pockets.

I discovered this weekend that his swim trunks have a little mesh coin pocket on the waistband.

A coin pocket!

AAAHHH!

It's one thing when the pockets are decorative, to make his little pants look like grownup clothes. But the mesh pocket is on the inside of his swim trunks. No one can see it but his already-pissy-about-the-pocket-issue mother as she's putting them on.

He has three pairs of swim trunks. Two of them have an interior mesh pocket. The third is an unlined pair of board shorts, and they have pockets on the outside.

Baby swim trunks: pockets. My capri pants: nada.

Yes, I could carry a purse, but I can barely keep track of my watch right now, which spends most of its time attached to my wrist. I'm supposed to remember where I put a purse from one moment to the next?

Dammit.

Polyp Polyp Fizz Fizz

Bump is having a colonoscopy tomorrow.

It's just a routine screen. He's young for the procedure, but given his family history, his doctor thought it would be a good idea to have it done now. Plus we have a lot of flexible spending account money that I'm worried will go unused, so we're frantically trying to use all the health care we can. (Ack. The FSA people decided Lumpyhead's helmet, which I had factored into this year's allowance, was a 2005 expense - grumble grumble.)

There is a great deal of preparation for this lovely event. Over the weekend, Bump was barred from eating certain things, mostly foods high in iron or fiber. So the things I'm supposed to eat because I'm growing a baby (spinach, beans, nuts) and the things we've been giving Lumpyhead to keep him regular (dried fruit, berries, whole grains) were off-limits to Bump. Aunt Bob called us the Jack Spratt Family.

Today, Bump has been on a clear liquid diet, otherwise known as the saddest group of allowable foods ever. Even the slightly fun stuff he can eat (jello, popsicles) are restricted to no orange or red or purple, which leaves lime and . . .well, lime. Bleah. Last night he had serious doubts that he would be able to make it through the day without passing out.

When I get home tonight, he'll start the pills, which along with a dosing schedule came with the admonition "REMAIN CLOSE TO TOILET FACILITIES." Yikes. Fun times lie ahead at Casa Lumpyhead. Fun times and a lot of candles and air freshener, I'm guessing.

This is all very good (I'm glad he's having this valuable test done, ahead of schedule, no less!) but slightly annoying (chicken broth without noodles or veggies is just sad. And can a grown man survive for a day on only gatorade without going insane?) and really, really funny (no corn? REMAIN CLOSE TO TOILET FACILITIES? Ah ha ha ha hah).

As Aunt Bob said, "When it's just a precautionary measure, there's nothing about a colonoscopy that's not funny." We've been saying it's for shits and giggles; Bump gets the shits, and we get to giggle.

(Hey look! This blog can be about poop and buttholes without even mentioning Lumpyhead!)

So while you sit down to dinner tonight, think of poor Bump with his lemonade gatorade, green apple jello and lime popsicle. I'm making hotdish for myself.

Well, Dammit, If You're Not Going to Tell Them, I Am

I meant to give Aunt Bob shit about this last night at poker, but Bump went instead because I was feeling - you guessed it - pukey. God, I'm so bored with nausea I am rolling my eyes as I type that.

But, but! Exciting! Aunt Bob has a shiner.

The coolest, rockingest, mutherfucken-badass-lookingest black eye you've ever seen. At least it was on Wednesday. She was supposed to take pictures of it every day and post them on her blog, so we could all see it turn from tough-chick purple to sick green to babypoop yellow.

But she has not done so yet. I am so sad.

I hope she at least remembered to take pictures of it.

Honest to god, it is so cool.

She had to buy some sunglasses to cover that shit up so she could 1) look respectable outdoors (and high or aloof indoors) and 2) be able to unveil the sweetness at precisely the right moment for proper dramatic effect.

Okay, she bought them for Reason 1. But Reason 2 is a nice side effect.

So go bug her and ask her to tell you about that slamming bruise she's wearing on her face.

A Catalog Costume Review

I'm not sure how we got on the mailing list, but Bump and I have been intrigued by the One Step Ahead catalog. Along with baby toys and feeding gadgets, the store features safety items and other things designed to make a parent's life easier.

For example, we seriously considered buying this for our trip to Minnesota, until someone told me I could just expand the carseat straps to their max and slip them over my own shoulders to carry the thing through the airport. (While that worked great for me, it would not have been a solution for Bump.)

The most recent catalog arrived, and the big item is Halloween costumes. While I had great fun making Aunt Bob's Little Guy's Halloween costume before Lumpyhead was born, I'm not one of those crazy people who are opposed to store-bought Halloween costumes. In fact, I think store-bought are great; Lumpyhead had two of 'em last year.

One was a lobster, which was cuter than the one on this page; Lumpyhead's was more whimsical. This one seems a little too biologically correct or something. Also, the wizard? Very cute, although the fact that the baby looks like he's standing weirds me out a little bit. Like the costume might endow your baby with actual magic powers.

The Elmo and Cookie Monster costumes are odd (is the muppet eating the baby?) but for the superhero set, there are a bunch of cute ones. The Darth Vader cracks my shit up every time I see it. Every. Time.

Now, while I admit I'm not opposed to store costumes, some just confuse me. Holly Hobbie? Really? She was lame when I was little, is she still around? And would you really get "Holly Hobbie" from this picture without the helpful description? Because I'm totally getting "Laura Ingalls as a Zombie."

Even though the kid in this pumpkin costume looks like he just shit himself, the costume is cute. The chicken is a little odd, mostly because it's supposed to be coming out of its shell. I'm all for chicken costumes, but the whole "hatching chick" concept creeps me out a little. The real kicker on this page, though, is the clown. What is up with the clown? First off, clowns are scary. Second, WTF is with the photoshopped balloons? I just don't get it.

If you're looking to pair costumes for your son and daughter, here are three options. Too bad they're all dumb. Honestly. The football player looks like his parents are trying to disguise one of those Neurotic Parent Helmets.

Yeah. One of these jobs.
I'll admit it. I want to shove that kid just because he's wearing that thing.

Look, I had a kid who wore a molding helmet for a couple months, and the worst thing about it was that some people thought it was protective rather than therapeutic. I really didn't mind questions about the helmet, but was always horribly embarrassed when people thought I was the kind of person who would buy one of these. Gah.

I would make fun of more stuff in the catalog, but I'm worried that I might get a comment like "I have that and it's great." Not that I think any of you are nutty enough to buy dumb stuff, but you never know. Aunt Bob and I once visited a friend and discovered that she had wrapped her entire coffee table in foam to prevent her child from injuring himself on the edges. The edges weren't even very sharp. She seemed normal to us before that visit, but since then neither of us have been able to get past the fact that she's the batshit chick who wrapped her coffee table in foam.

So, it's not that I'm worried about you being crazy. In fact, I hope you're a little nuts; I like nuts. I just don't want you to become ______, that crazy blogger who has a bib that straps your kid to you during an airplane ride (but isn't approved for takeoff, taxi or landing).

I'll Take Suggestions

My friend Dee had her first baby on the 8th. I got an email from her yesterday with some breastfeeding questions, which brought back a lot of memories of what it was like to be a new mom. It also made me think about how things are going to be different with this next kid.

When Lumpyhead was a newborn, we maniacally sterilized everything in a microwave steamer. We spent every available minute looking at him, holding him, or just watching the other parent hold him. I have a bazillion pictures of Lumpyhead just staring blankly into space (but he's so cuuuuute!).

Um, yeah. Next kid? Sorry.

Has your bottle been rinsed out since the last time you used it? Good enough. You probably won't get picked up unless you're screaming. Camera time without your brother in the frame? Good luck.

But!

You'll have a partner in crime who will play with you, look out for you, and show you which finger fits up your nose best. He will show you that walking is neat and demonstrate how big kids use the potty and teach you the best cuss words.

I hope. At least you'll have someone with whom to commiserate when your father and I are driving you crazy.

I should probably come up with a name for you, little critter.

Walking and Kissing and Finding Your Tummy

Lumpyhead started walking last week.

Well, not really walking. Just taking a few Frankenstein steps and then plopping down on his butt. Or doing a drunk stagger away from the ottoman and falling down. He's certainly closer to walking than he was two weeks ago. He stands hesitantly and bobs and weaves and may be walking right now this very minute and I'm missing it. Ahhh!

He'll even take some steps holding my hand. Holding both his hands above his head produces an instant sit-down rather than bipedal forward motion (I don't think he trusts us), but he'll hold onto one hand and putter down the hall.

--

He gives kisses now, on request. They're really not kisses, more like open-mouthed slobbers, which are kind of gross, but it's sweet. Fair warning: sometimes he bites.

If he's concentrating on something and you ask for a smoochie, he may just present his cheek, so you can kiss him. He's a busy guy, you know. He can't be bothered granting every request for a kiss.

--

Yesterday, Lumpyhead patted the top of his belly. "That's your tummy," I told him. "Where's your tummy?" I asked, and he patted himself again. He still remembered the new trick this morning, much to his father's delight.

Now, if you ask him where his tummy is, he'll pat his lower ribcage.

--

So, if you need him, Lumpyhead will be lurching around the house, patting his tummy and giving out slobbery kisses. He's like the bad guest at the end of a party.

How Do You Do This?

I have no idea how stay-home parents blog.

Bump had appointments with the doctor and the dentist today, so I took the day off to stay home with Lumpyhead. I don't know why it feels different than a Saturday or Sunday, but it does. Today seems as though it should be on a different schedule than a weekend day - a more regular, standard schedule - even though I'm not sure what that schedule entails. I sense I should be filling in for Bump today, keeping to the activities he and Lumpyhead normally do, instead of just being Mom. Rather than doing that, though, I'm doing what I think Bump would be doing, which is probably nothing close to what he normally does.

I've had a great time, so far. I'll probably be curled up under the table by the end of the day, with Lumpyhead wailing in the baby kennel, but I'm managing okay for now. Lumpyhead and I started the day with a walk to the bakery at the bottom of the hill. It's a great little spot: sparkling clean with modern decor, bountiful offerings of beautiful cakes and flaky pastries, sandwiches and a refrigerated wall of bottled juices. It's really everything you could want in a yuppie coffee bar.

No one there speaks English, which makes a visit even more exciting. Written signage is minimal, but my Spanish is so bad it probably doesn't matter. Asking about the choices is pretty pointless, as I wouldn't understand the answer anyway. The staff smiles patiently at me while I discuss with Lumpyhead which pastry we'll buy and I try to figure out what's in the turnover-thingies by the stuff oozing out the sides. I choose between the one filled with red stuff (raspberry?) or the one filled with yellow stuff (maybe it's apple?), only to get it home, take a bite, and realize it's creme-filled. The pastries are always damn good though, so you can't really go wrong, no matter what color ooze you pick. The surprise factor makes it more fun.

I played with Lumpyhead and made him lunch, and he's been asleep since 12:30. I'm sure he'll wake up any minute now and I'll wonder where the time went (it went to blogging, Dumbass) and wish I'd gotten _____ done instead while he was napping.

In the past few weeks my daily routine of baby time, commute, work, commute, baby time, semi-vegetative state, sleep has dissolved. August on the Hill is an odd period, workdays are shorter and much less hectic. Many offices are empty. There's no traffic. My personal erratic schedule of vacation days and plane trips and visits to grandparents makes things feel even stranger.

I've noticed that my brain has turned to mush recently.

I don't know if it's the irregular programming, the pregnancy, or spending all day with Lumpyhead that's causing it, but I feel dumb as a fencepost.

I can't imagine how the rest of you stay-home parents manage to write regular entries. There are a million things I could be doing instead of banging out some stupid words, but I felt the need to give a little shout-out to those of you who do this all the time, without your brains turning to mush. Go you.

But stop rolling your eyes at my dumbitude.

Pictures from Maine

(or, Finally A Post Where She Doesn't Talk About Corn Dogs)

The verdict on the new camera is positive, although I'm a little worried about battery life. Maybe if I take fewer than 250 pictures in a week, the battery will last longer.

Day 1

Lumpyhead in the storage bin pool

Eating cheerios with Grammy, right before he peed on her.

Day 2

Playing on the beach

Maine Baby

Baby's first lobster roll

Baby's first Moxie

I debated posting shots of Denise and Denefyoo before and after the Busted Stroller and Bloody Faces Incident. But they're not my kids, so I don't feel I can plaster their faces all over the internet.

Last Day

Asleep in the stroller on the walk to the beach

Asleep on the sand

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

Bump thinks my beach hat is stupid. I’d been calling it my Stupid Hat most of the week until Jack reminded me that s-t-u-p-i-d is a bad word. Since then, I’ve been frantically checking around for children before mentioning my Stupid Hat.

We spent our last morning in Maine on the beach. Lumpyhead fell asleep in the stroller on the 600-yard walk, and slept on a towel in the sand. I walked down to the cheesy shops to buy a new Stupid Hat and apparently decided I needed some sunglasses that make me look like I’m recovering from glaucoma surgery. Stupid or not, I think they will be perfect for our beach trip at the end of the month, and together they cost less than twenty bucks.

I had a corn dog for lunch.

The flight back to DC was fine, except that I spent most of the flight holding a sleeping, stinky baby. Over Boston, Lumpyhead decided he needed to poop but was having trouble doing so, dooming Bump and me to some contortionist bullshit in the airplane bathroom. We brought the sweaty baby back to our seats where he pooped some more and promptly fell asleep after exerting himself so, leaving us to wallow in the stank. Good times.

But, we’re home now, which is nice. Lumpyhead is asleep in his own bed, and hopefully will sleep through the night without waking up every three hours.

Tomorrow I’ll be back in the office, which will I expect to suck. I will miss the boy, but at least I’ll be able to catch up on my blog reading. I may post some photos from the Maine trip.

Oh, and tomorrow is Bump's birthday.

Oh My Dear God

So, I could devote this post to how Bump's brother-in-law Jack went running tonight with Denise and Denefyoo in the double jogger. The stroller's front wheel came off during the run, face-planting both kids into the concrete and sending Jack flying over the wrecked heap of a stroller. And I could explain how Jack tried to call Bump's sister, but she didn't answer her cell phone, so he had to leave Denise with a total stranger while someone else gave him a ride to Bump's mom's place with Denefyoo. And I could recount how Jack came running in the house with a bloody child, deposited him with Bump's mom, and then raced back to the scene to get an even bloodier second child. There was much crying and howling and horror.

But the kids are fine, although a little bruised (poor sweet things). Jack is shaken, but not the complete mess Bump or I would be in the same situation (good man).

So if I told you that story, it would just get you all worked up over nothing, because everybody's okay. Jack didn't even hurt himself when he went hurtling over the face-planted children/broken stroller (amazing).


So, instead, I will ask you - using the tone of wonder one reserves for these kinds of things - if you knew about National Corndog Day.

Are you freakin kidding me? Corn dogs, plus tator tots, plus beer (and basketball, for those of you not already in a state of apoplectic shock). It seems that some sponsor even donates corn dogs if you sign up to host an official party. Free corn dogs. Oh my holy god.


[And no, I did not get a corn dog today. Dammit. We went to Two Lights in the afternoon where Lumpyhead got his first taste of lobster roll and I got sick on the trip. Fucking A. Then there was the whole Busted Stroller and Bloody Faces Incident, which I'll tell you about some day, and that made my nausea seem slightly trivial.]

Vacation Weekend Recap

On Friday afternoon, Bump, Lumpyhead and I went back to downtown Old Orchard Beach ("downtown?" "the midway?" I don't know what its proper title is, but it's where all the rides and greasy nibbles are). I ordered another corn dog and Bump took Lumpyhead on the carousel.

I had some pizza, which Lumpyhead enjoyed mightily. When he had finished the last bit, and I opened my hands to show him there was none left, he looked at me like I'd just sold him to the highest bidder. "You will betray me thusly, Woman?!" he shrieked. He stared at me in horror as I wiped the leftover pizza grease from under my fingernails. "Well, at least give me some of the grease! How can you do this to me?"

We almost bought another slice, just for him.

--

On Saturday, Bump's uncle, aunt and cousin joined us. The entire ordeal was complete chaos. Bump's grandmother was there as well, so the thirteen of us descended onto a dive bar next to the beach for lunch. I ordered a cheeseburger, which arrived raw, and Bump's brother-in-law Jack may still be waiting for his hot dog. I did not eat the burger. Bump plowed through his, realizing halfway through that the lettuce and tomatoes were warmer than the meat. At least the fries were good.

That night, I skipped dinner and the evening festivities because I was sick. You'll note: no corn dog. Coincidence? I think not.

--

Yesterday, Bump, Jack and I played a round of golf in the morning while Bump's mom watched Lumpyhead. Last night we went to Bump's sister's for a cookout with Jack's family. Including Lumpyhead, Denise, and Denefyoo, there were eight children under 10 there. Good God.

The dinner was a fabulous chinese-style barbeque. Ribs, yes; corn dogs, no. By the time we returned to Bump's mother's place I was putting the retch back in wretched.

--

Today looks to be rainy, so I'm not sure what we'll do with the kids when Denise and Denefyoo arrive. But you can bet your ass I'm getting a damn corn dog before the day is done.

I’m On Vacation So the Posts Are Boring

Today’s weather was much more pleasant, which meant I was much more pleasant.

Bump, Lumpyhead and I started the day with a walk around town. Bump’s mom moved here recently, so this is my first visit to this little vacation spot in season. We wandered toward the midway, early enough in the morning that most of the shops were still shuttered and the air didn’t reek of fried food. Yet. Day-old oil, maybe, but fried food, no.

We walked by a pathetic-looking attraction called the Terminator (we assigned it the slogan “Ride With Me If You Want To Live”), saw luxury condos going up next to the once-glorious but now seedy Pier (I bet the marketing literature for the condos calls the Pier “historic” rather than “cheesy”), and learned that on Saturday we could take part in the Great Guinness Chug (Oh, if only I wasn’t pregnant).

Bump’s sister’s kids, Denise (nearly 4) and Denefyoo (19 months) came over in the afternoon. They wear me out. It makes me very, very worried about life with two children. Lumpyhead is fascinated by older children, and loves every minute with these two.

We hit the beach again, where Lumpyhead squealed incessantly at two men playing bocce. “Balls! Oh my god, many balls! Get me closer to the balls, Woman!”

Usually I’m feeling like absolute crap by 8pm, but I’m okay right now. Either I’m getting past the worst of the nausea, or a big fat afternoon nap plus a corn dog for dinner is the key to non-vomiting.

Bump’s mother is dedicated to So You Think You Can Dance. Bump and his stepdad have begrudgingly turned away from the Red Sox game for her to watch. I’ve never seen it before (Bump was subjected to it last night while I was asleep), and I’m not being very successful in my attempts to restrain the audible snickering.

I went out and bought a new camera before we left (the Canon), and I’m pretty pleased with the shots it’s been capturing. I thought I brought the cable with me, but either I didn’t or I can’t find it, and the end result is the same: no pictures with the posts until we get back.

So, that’s it for now. Happy Birthday to Auntly H, and woo fricken hoo for cooler weather.

Old Orchard Beach is the New Hell

We arrived in Maine around noon yesterday, where - like everywhere else - it is really hot.

“Big deal,” you say. “It’s hotter in DC.” Yes. It’s hotter in DC, where I go from my central AC-ed condo to my air conditioned car to my super-cooled office. My office where, honest to god, I have my space heater going because it feels like a meat locker.

But guess what? Bump’s mom’s house? Does not have air-conditioning.

I think I am going to die.

The weather is supposed to cool down tonight and be more temperate for the rest of the week. All I can say is that it better, because otherwise I am going to fucking die. If this isn’t over by tomorrow (I guess that would be this morning) I will insist that we go to a hotel, or stay at Bump’s sister’s, or something, because it turns out I am really a great big baby about this.

Bump is even less happy than I am. He sweats easily, and went through three shirts yesterday. Lumpyhead, like his dad, is a sweater. He sweats buckets when he naps in 72-degree rooms, and he was not a happy camper yesterday. This cold front cannot move through fast enough.

He did well on the plane, though, which was good. Bump’s mother’s reaction to the news of her coming grandchild was excited shock; we captured it on video, and like my parents’ reaction, I will post it when I get my head out of my ass on that front.

Bump’s mom set up a make-shift pool in the yard, and after a fitful nap (on me, in the hottest room in the house - he sweat through my shirt), Lumpyhead cooled off in a water-filled storage bin. Then he ate some cheerios and peed on his grandmother.

Later in the afternoon, we brought Lumpyhead and his cousins to the beach, where we frolicked next to a sunburnt family for whom I believe the polite term is now “country.” The completely naked baby, who looked to be about Lumpyhead’s age, had little scratches on his face and grinned wildly at us. His mother was wearing a string bikini and was pregnant again, much further along in her pregnancy than I am. Or maybe she wasn’t pregnant at all.

It was fun.

What Do You Say?

On Sunday, Aunt Bob, Pete, and Aunt Bob's Little Guy came over to use the pool. After swimming, ABLG had a snack, played with some toys, and read a book with Pete and Lumpyhead. Before they left for home, ABLG asked if he could borrow our copy of Finding Nemo.

Bump's response: Sure! You want Toy Story and Toy Story 2 too?
Aunt Bob: Nemo will be fine.

We're a little, um, permissive when it comes to ABLG. In many ways, he's our first child, and if he indicates a preference for something, we'd give him four of it if we could.

So, as they were leaving, Aunt Bob told ABLG to thank us for the pool and the snack. "And Nemo!" ABLG reminded her.

So, perched against Bump's feet, ABLG chirped thank yous for potato chips, Nemo, then turned to Aunt Bob and asked, "What else?"

"The pool." Aunt Bob answered.

"Oh yeah, the pool too," ABLG added.

His ability to communicate astounds me. He's never had a problem getting his point across, but he has actual conversations now. He speaks in full sentences. He adds his own ideas and concepts to the chit-chat.

Meanwhile, Lumpyhead continues to prattle on in his baby babble, which Bump and I regularly translate aloud to one another.

Lumpyhead: Ahh. Ahh!
Translation: Give me a goddamn M&M!

Lumpyhead: Bah blah bah bah bah bah ah guh ah.
Translation: You fat fuckers eat one every time you walk by the bowl, but you won't give me one. God, you people suck.

He curses a lot.