Babies of the World Raise Your Left Leg
Justus is in amazing stage.
And by amazing I don’t mean he’s performing death-defying feats or running some sort of shock and awe campaign (unless you count the explosive dirty diapers which–believe me–can both shock and awe). But rather that he’s in a stage where he thinks everything is amazing.
Like, for example,the dental floss case. Amazing.
The remote control? Also amazing.
Graham Cracker Cookies? REALLY AMAZING.
Sometimes the emperor is amazed by himself. For example, by his new found ability to hold his left foot in the air like an old woman who got stuck during leg lifts in aerobics class.
Amazing.
In fact, the leg bit turns out to be so amazing the emperor decrees his left leg must, from this time forward, be kept in the air at all times. His own well being and the well being of the nation he rules depends upon it.
Guzzling a bottle? Left foot up in the air.
Lunging into a spoonful of baby food? (He doesn’t have the patience to wait for his incompetent servants to get the spoon to his mouth.) Left foot up in the air.
Getting dressed? Left foot in the air.
Unfortunately, we–his demanding servants–require him to wear clothes in the below zero temperatures, so every day, he is forced to surrender the perpetually-up-in-the-air leg for the inconvenient 11 seconds it takes to put on pants.
The 11 seconds of screeching that ensues is emperor-babble for “How dare you mortals disturb the emperor’s sacred left leg?!”
We wonder how many failed sets of parents he sent to the guillotine before us.
Yesterday, he got himself in a bit of a dilemma because he rolled over–I’m assuming with his left leg extended–and got it wedged, quite solidly, between the bars of his crib.
Justus apparently was too exhausted to call for assistance, however, so he promptly fell asleep. I picture him like a hiker stranded out in a canyon. Eventually, when no one finds you, you are forced to fall asleep and face your dilemma again in the morning.
This was Justus’ scenario, except that he didn’t bother waiting for eventually. He just passed out.
I discovered his status when I wandered in to return his freshly washed laundry. He stared up at me and smiled, then, stubbornly refusing to admit that his left leg bit might be washed up.
I squeezed and smushed and squished his rolls for a few seconds to dislodge his infamous left leg, which was pushed so far through the bars that his baby fat threatened to swallow them up.
I then set the freed jailbird on his tummy to crawl around while I put away his laundry. He promptly rolled over, the whole time looking at me incredulously for putting him on his stomach, and raised his still-amazing left leg to celebrate his freedom.