It really shouldn’t have come as a surprise when Buddhaboy turned out to be a force to be reckoned with. This was a kid who put me through preterm labor four times, was born on my birthday after only a few hours of labor, and showed up two weeks early but with a full head of hair and a full-term baby’s size. I really can’t say that we weren’t warned.
Buddhaboy was a robust eater. He didn’t go through a newborn’s usual learning-to-nurse phase. He was on the job and ate voraciously. When the time came to wean him (at about 3 years of age — yeah, he was devoted), I learned how to get dressed in the dark, hiding in my closet so that he wouldn’t see any flesh above the waist or a bra. If he did, he’d demand a ‘nack, and be an utter tyrant about it.
When we introduced him to solid food, he was on board with the program. The evening we decided to see if he liked meatballs, Ed was in charge of cutting them into pieces, and I was in charge with the actual feeding.
“Hey! He likes them,” I said, entranced to see my baby eating. Soon the pieces were gone.
“Hurry up, Ed! Cut them faster … faster!” That kid could put away food like no one’s business.
Since Buddhaboy was our second and final child, I was exhausted from the get go. During the pregnancy, many days I’d curl up on the floor of Skimbleshanks’s room to catch 40 winks while he played (i.e., wreaked havoc).
I confess that Buddhaboy slept with Ed and me for much longer than anyone recommends or will admit to. I was just so tired that the idea of getting out of bed in the middle of the night to nurse him was almost literally painful. So he slept with us. Like a cat or a dog does, he took up a disproportionate amount of our king-size bed. I put him in the middle, where his little feet drummed on Ed’s back and the rest of him forced me to sleep clutching onto the edge of the mattress. It wasn’t what I’d describe as a good night’s sleep, but it was sleep.
Once Buddhaboy became mobile, he began to explore in the early mornings. One morning I woke to the strong, distinct odor of peanut butter. When I opened one eye blearily, I could see that Buddhaboy’s face and the front of his pajamas were smeared with peanut butter.
Another morning, Ed and I were awakened by Buddhaboy leaping onto the bed, followed by our three dogs (small, medium, and large). Buddhaboy sat down between Ed’s and my head, and the dogs took up position across the middle of the bed, totally focused on the slice of pizza that our toddler held in each hand.
I believe that it was at about this time that my father-in-law came to our house and installed a hasp-lock on our refrigerator. In case you’re not sure what that is or what was involved, I’ll tell you. My father-in-law took a power drill and drilled holes into our refrigerator door and side. Let me repeat that: He drilled HOLES. Into our REFRIGERATOR. I can’t even describe what it was like watching that. Anyway, once the hasp lock was in place, we used a small combination lock to keep the refrigerator door closed, the way it should be, while we were sleeping.
But to get back to yet another rude awakening, there was the morning when we were peacefully sleeping and were rocketed out of sleep by Buddhaboy’s cry of frustration. He was sitting on the floor on my side of the bed and was covered head to toe with what I later discovered was sugar cookie mix. I guess he decided that his foray for things to eat was a loss and he wanted to be in clean clothes.
And who knew that a toddler could crack a belt? I went from blissfully asleep to awake one morning at the sound of — was that a whip? Gauging the reach of what I saw was a belt, I threw myself over the side of the bed. Buddhaboy laughed with delight. I sat there for a few minutes, waiting for my heart to either burst out of my chest or settle back into normal rhythm.
The last memorable wake-up call with Buddhaboy (memorable just because I must have blocked out any additional ones) started innocently enough. He walked into the room with “that” smile on his face. If you’re a parent, you know the one I mean. It’s the smile that means your kid is up to something.
“Good morning, honey,” I said. He just stood there, grinning at me.
I noticed that one of his hands was behind his back.
“What do you have there? Can I see?” Still grinning, Buddhaboy did the big reveal.
He had an apple, I saw. And the apple was completely impaled by an 8-inch knife. My toddler had an apple … on a knife. He’d gotten himself a healthy snack and skewered it with a knife with enough size and heft to decapitate a zombie.
Keeping as calm as I could, I smiled at Buddhaboy.
“Wow. Look at that. Can I see that for a second, honey?” I slowly reached over Ed’s body. He was awake and as goggle-eyed as I was. Buddhaboy handed over the apple-knife, and Ed and I breathed again.
When Buddhaboy is still a baby, we referred to him as The Bull. The boy was a determined little guy and looked and acted like he could bench press an adult. That’s not to say that we were afraid of him. It is to say, however, that we were a bit frightened of what he might do when he was older. It would have been interesting if I’d sent a note in to his teachers with the warning about not rousing the bull. Fortunately for all concerned, Buddhaboy the Bull seems to have been left behind as he’s matured.
As time went on, Buddhaboy quest for food grew stealthier. He learned how to open a lower cupboard door and use it as a ladder to the countertop. Once there, he was able to reach the upper cupboards, where things like white and brown sugar are kept.
The boy has a sweet tooth, there’s no denying it. He comes by it honestly, too. When my grandmother gave me all her recipe cards, there were maybe three dozen cards devoted to meats, vegetables, and the like. However, there were about a thousand (not an exaggeration) for cookies, cakes, pies, candies, and other sugar-laced confections. I joke that I’m the anti-Atkins, because for me, it’s all carbs all the time. (It’s not nearly as amusing now that I’m older, because that kind of diet catches up with even the skinniest, scrawniest of us, including me.)
It must have been summer, because Buddhaboy was wandering around in just a diaper. He’d been talking with his father when he strolled past me. As he moved, I heard a distinctive crinkle-crinkle-crinkle coming from him.
“Hold it right there, buddy,” I said. Walking over, I took a peek down the front of a hugely bulging diaper. Stashed inside was a full package of root beer barrels, Ed’s favorite.
“Hey, Ed?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you notice anything about Buddhaboy just now?”
“No. Why?”
“Because I just relieved him of a whole bag of root beer barrels.”
[silence]
“Did you hear me? He had a bag of root beer barrels stuffed down the front of his diaper. Didn’t you hear the crinkling when he was walking?”
“Uh … no. I guess I didn’t”
Moms have ESP, I suppose.
Buddhaboy’s adventures in food stashing didn’t end with the root beer barrels, either. He tried hiding M&Ms in the same place, but with disappointing (to him), disgusting (to his parents) results.
Now that he’s 14, Buddhaboy no longer sneaks food. No, he usually just grabs that bag of cereal or crackers and chows down, despite our rule of asking before eating.
He’s fortunate, too, that the volume of food that he consumes is at about normal levels, otherwise he’d be spherical. In fact, sometimes we have to really work to get him to eat. But other times we try to keep our hands away from the table as he eats everything in sight.
And at all times, we marvel at this kid who came early and has kept us on our toes ever since.
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