The Littlest Samurai

I should have known what I was in for when the epidural stopped working, twenty minutes after they gave it to me. Those things are supposed to last for hours, pretty much throughout your entire labor. Mine didn't. I began to feel every contraction, every pang of labor not long after the anesthesiologist packed up his little tray and left. I told my husband they gave me the wrong dose. He assured me it would be fine, and that I would soon feel better. (Spoken like someone who has never been in labor.) He didn't know any better, nobody did. How could anyone have known that I was about to deliver the world's strongest baby?

No exaggeration, my third child, my sweet baby boy, has the face of an angel, the arm of Roger Clemens, and the strength of Hulk Hogan. It's crazy. But true. He can reach anything, can open everything, and can and will tackle children twice his age like a linebacker on the field.

And the mischief! Oh, the mischief this little guy can get into! I always thought that word was reserved for little boys in the 1920's who wore knickers with suspenders and polyester caps. But, it appropriately applies to my son. No other word would suit him better. I once went upstairs for literally less than two minutes, only to come back down and find my little boy with half a wine goblet raised in his hand, whilst standing in a pile of the other half of the wine goblet broken on the floor. (Once again demonstrating his superior strength.)

Just so you see what I'm talking about, here is a play by play of this morning:

• 8 a.m.--Hear baby screaming, run upstairs. Try to find binky that the baby chucked across the room into large pile of Rescue Heroes.
• 8:08 a.m.--Head towards kitchen. Offer baby small tupperware of mock Apple Jacks cereal. Baby not appeased, takes bowl and flips it over.
• 8:10 a.m.--Baby runs over to kitchen table and eyes banana, makes sure to crunch up Apple Jacks with each bounding step.
• 8:13 a.m.--I look up from floor where I am picking up grains of cereal, to see baby climbing up side of kitchen chair. I watch as he leans over to reach bowl, and nearly tips. As chair just barely falls over baby senses unbalance and leans back to level chair safely.
• 8:15 a.m.--As I dash for my $39.95 Sur La Table fruit bowl, baby catches glimpse of me in his peripherals and moves even quicker to grab his banana.
• 8:17 a.m.--"Almost...got it!" I make it to the table and attempt to pry batch of bananas from baby's tight, clenched grip. I'm amazed by his strength and tenacity and slowly release my grip allowing him to take a bite of banana, peel and all. Once again, I have been defeated by the Samurai.

In closing, I've compiled a list of all the things my little wonder has broken, eaten or gotten into.

• bag of Oreos
• bubbles
• raw chicken marinating in refrigerator
• craft glitter
• wine goblet
• tube of toothpaste
• box of Cheez-Itz
• shampoo
• straws
• acrylic paints
• carton of eggs
• toilet bowl cleaner
• liquid foundation
• package of ground beef in back of grocery cart