This blog has devolved into all Seamus, all the time. But if you were coming here to hear me whine about my academic progress, I’m sorry. I’ll get back to that, soon. There are some jobs posted, and I’m getting really excited to apply for them, but I still have to work on cover letters, letters of rec, my CV, planning for the writing sample, and more. And then I wait a long time to find out about interviews, campus visits, and job talks. I’m exhausted just thinking about it. But I’m also super excited that we might be moving on next year to our more permanent home. I hope it’s nice.
I promised you fetishes. My son has some. (By the way, did you see this about how to tell if you husband is gay? I don’t feel like going into a critique of it, but suffice it to say that every man I know is gay based on at least one of these signs. Talk about a crisis of masculinity. Seamus probably is too, even though he’s only 16 months old.) At daycare, they told us that he likes hair. He strokes the hair of the other kids and the women who work there. I’m relieved because he pulls my hair whenever he gets the chance, and at least somewhere he’s getting the message to be gentle. His second fetish is shoes. He doesn’t have the “Sh” sound yet, so he just says “ews” for shoes, but he’s obsessed with them–mine, Patrick’s, his own. Today, he carried my slippers from the living room back into the bedroom and then he carried Patrick’s shoes from the office to the kitchen. Then to top it all off, I had him in his green and brown overalls today for an outing. I called him over to me to put his brown shoes on, and he pitched a fit, hauling himself off to get his (new) blue shoes, which he brought over to me and insisted on wearing. Kid’s got style. This however, is a big step up from his earlier obsession with chewing on shoes. He also likes to take sandals off our feet and then try to put them back on our feet, and then he gives up and does it to his own feet.
The final thing isn’t really a fetish, but I’m worried nonetheless. I sterilized all the pumping equipment recently and put it in a box. Seamus recently saw the clear plastic box sitting on a shelf, started pointing at it, and commenting “bottle? mo’ bottle? my bottle?”. So sad. And today at the zoo, my friend Chris, thinking it was funny that Seamus was pushing his own empty stroller, put his daughter in said stroller to get a picture of Seamus pushing her. He promptly freaked out, and started trying to pull her out of the stroller! This on top of last night, when I went to sit in my camping chair, and he tried to pull me out of it. This kid is starting to get possession down, and it isn’t pretty, especially with the big supplanter* coming in a few days/weeks? *Seamus = James = the supplanting one, which would have been a more appropriate name for our second child, no?