Kids are so cute. So funny. So quirky. So inquisitive.
Well, that's everyone else's kid. The thing my kid is doing would be so adorable and charming and hysterical if it were someone else's kid. My Henry? I think he's obsessive compulsive. Is there really any other way to explain...
"The Checking of the Toe Fuzz"
Every night. Methodically. For hours if we'd let him.
He sits on the potty, completely naked, and one by one looks between each toe on each foot, in search of lint or strings or dirt or goo or whatever might have found its way in the crevices of a 2-year-old's tootsies.
Ask him what he's doing and he'll mumble, "checkin' for fuzz," while straining to pull one digit away from another and peer around the fatty roll of a middle toe for a glimpse at some gray-blue fibers that must have been deposited from his favorite Elmo socks.
Once he gets both feet checked, he'll check again. Wouldn't want to miss any bit of anything.
A second check might lead to a third. Or if he's somehow distracted, he'll move his search to other parts of his body. His belly button's a prime place for fuzz. Maybe behind his ear. Definitely his nose, although it's more likely to result in a big crusty green booger on the end of his picker finger than any fuzzy deposits.
A new favorite spot for fiddling with fuzz is the boy's penis. Diaper fibers seem to slough off regularly and adhere themselves to the end of his penis, causing him to pull and tug, pick and squish, sometimes so forcefully that my husband must leave the room, grimacing and reaching for his own crotch as a protection reflex.
Will this pass, like a phase or a 24-hour bug? Or is this how an affliction of OCD begins? How much longer before he insists all the fringe on the throw rug be straightened? Before all of his construction vehicles must be lined up in a perfectly straight line? Before his Weebles must be placed in exact spots in their Weeblevillage to maintain proper balance?
I wish he'd be this obsessive about cleaning his dinner plate or keeping his toys from being scattered all over the two floors of the house. Or about not tracking dog poop in on his sport sandals from Maggie's back yard mine field.
I can live with the fuzz-checking. As long as he's not someday keeping his prom date waiting while he spreads his toes for inspection.
Well, that's everyone else's kid. The thing my kid is doing would be so adorable and charming and hysterical if it were someone else's kid. My Henry? I think he's obsessive compulsive. Is there really any other way to explain...
"The Checking of the Toe Fuzz"
Every night. Methodically. For hours if we'd let him.
He sits on the potty, completely naked, and one by one looks between each toe on each foot, in search of lint or strings or dirt or goo or whatever might have found its way in the crevices of a 2-year-old's tootsies.
Ask him what he's doing and he'll mumble, "checkin' for fuzz," while straining to pull one digit away from another and peer around the fatty roll of a middle toe for a glimpse at some gray-blue fibers that must have been deposited from his favorite Elmo socks.
Once he gets both feet checked, he'll check again. Wouldn't want to miss any bit of anything.
A second check might lead to a third. Or if he's somehow distracted, he'll move his search to other parts of his body. His belly button's a prime place for fuzz. Maybe behind his ear. Definitely his nose, although it's more likely to result in a big crusty green booger on the end of his picker finger than any fuzzy deposits.
A new favorite spot for fiddling with fuzz is the boy's penis. Diaper fibers seem to slough off regularly and adhere themselves to the end of his penis, causing him to pull and tug, pick and squish, sometimes so forcefully that my husband must leave the room, grimacing and reaching for his own crotch as a protection reflex.
Will this pass, like a phase or a 24-hour bug? Or is this how an affliction of OCD begins? How much longer before he insists all the fringe on the throw rug be straightened? Before all of his construction vehicles must be lined up in a perfectly straight line? Before his Weebles must be placed in exact spots in their Weeblevillage to maintain proper balance?
I wish he'd be this obsessive about cleaning his dinner plate or keeping his toys from being scattered all over the two floors of the house. Or about not tracking dog poop in on his sport sandals from Maggie's back yard mine field.
I can live with the fuzz-checking. As long as he's not someday keeping his prom date waiting while he spreads his toes for inspection.
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