Silly Bill

I have this fear that I'm irreversibly messing my kid up. I know that everyone has that fear from time to time- nobody's perfect, therefore we're screwing up at something at any given moment. Parents are particularly prone to having this fear, maybe because there's so much at stake when we make mistakes. I don't think the poor little guy is going to end up in a bell tower with a shotgun or bouncing on Oprah's couch or anything. But given the environment he's growing up in, he's bound to be at least a little weird.

For one thing, the poor guy will have no idea what his name is. They (ooh, the infamous They) say that when your baby is looking in a mirror, you should say "Ooh, look at baby (insert child's name here)." This will presumably promote self-awareness. Too bad we've been calling Simon's reflection "nomiS" (i.e. Simon backwards, for anyone who missed that) since the first time they met. Apparently Simon and nomiS will grow up being the best of friends, but at no time will my baby go, "hey... that's me!". Also, the little guy has more nicknames than anyone I've ever met. It started out when he was a newborn in the hospital- for various reasons we started referring to him as "little monkey" and "turtle". Next came "Fartin' Martin", "Tootin' Newton", and "Gassy Gus" (notice a theme here?). His Daddy referred to him as "anger ball" when he got fussy. Lately he's earned himself the nickname "Silly Bill", and I seem to call him a weirdo at least 3 or 4 times a day. I really do try to use his name when I think of it- I'm pretty sure I say "I love you, Simon" more than "I love you, Bill."

He may or may not also develop some confusion about the correct names for things. Yesterday he was eating some exceptionally un-appetizing cereal with prunes mixed in, the sight of which prompted Daddy to encourage him to "eat your poop!" If this continues, I can see my poor baby either a) thinking that eating poop is not only acceptable, but encouraged in our household, or b) showing up at kindergarten telling his teacher that Daddy makes him eat poop. It's probably karma, actually. I once had a toddler in my mom's daycare convinced that the wallpaper in the kitchen was called "cereal". Or "sleeliuls", as he said it. Oh, come on... it was funny at the time, OK?

Another minor issue is the stuff he hears every day. We don't swear much (aside from the occasional "Bloody Hell!" from Daddy), and we try not to watch movies or TV shows with questionable content when Bill (oops) is around. Still, there's a good chance that his first full sentence is going to be "Otis, stop that or I'll kill you!" Won't that be cute in the grocery store?

There are worse things we could be doing, though. Simon, Nomis or Bill, at least he knows he's loved. The kid already has a great (if odd) sense of humour- he thinks it's hysterically funny when you tell him to go to sleep, and his giggles make me laugh even when I'm exhausted and desperate for him to have his nap. And at least his poop has 14 essential nutrients... I don't think we're really doing all that bad a job. Good old Bill might not grow up normal, but at least he's happy.