Toddler T-Rex

(Copyright 2008 by Valentine J. Brkich. First printed in the Oct. 2008 edition of The Point North Magazine, Wexford, Pa.)

I've always been infatuated with dinosaurs; most boys are, at one time or another. In fact, the first story I ever wrote was a 10-sentence, nine-chapter thriller called Dinosaur Island, in which I become stranded on a tropical, dinosaur-infested isle. Written in 1982, when I was just 7 years old, the story is eerily similar in parts to Steven Spielberg's Jurassic Park (1993). I've considered filing suit against Mr. Spielberg for theft of intellectual property; but, then again, I've never been the vindictive type.

Today, luckily, I have my very own pet dinosaur – a baby T-Rex, to be exact. Oh sure, to look at her, you'd think she's just a cute little one-year-old human baby. But don't be mistaken; she's more T-Rex than toddler.

You see, my baby girl can eat. She can devour more food than most kids double her size. When she's hungry…look out! The moment her bottom hits her high-chair, her arms pull inward like those of the mighty Tyrannosaurus, and she lets out a roar that can only be described as prehistoric. When my wife and I hear this guttural growl, we scamper to the refrigerator in search of something – anything – to appease our ravenous little carnivore.

Of course, much like the mighty T-Rex, my baby tears into whatever food we give her with terrific ferocity. On several occasions, I've nearly had my fingers bitten clean off by her four, razor-sharp teeth, as I tried to replenish her supply of Cheerios. She sucks meatloaf down like it's a milkshake, and she can eat chicken faster than a wing-eating champion on an empty stomach. She's a veritable baby-sized garbage disposal, that one.

From what I've seen, most babies are discriminating eaters. Not my little girl. She'll devour anything within reach, including cell phones, fallen leaves and the aforementioned human finger. The other day, my wife fed the baby a mixture of broccoli and peaches, and the little bugger didn't bat an eye. She swallowed every last bit of the vile concoction and then let out a roar of displeasure when it was all gone.

And not only does she eat like a T-Rex, but she also plays like one, smashing through her toys much like a mini Godzilla awakened from the deep. One thing I enjoy is having roaring contests with her, which my wife continually states that she could do without.

What confuses us is how our baby girl consumes all this food while remaining so petite (She's a mere 15 lbs.). How can something eat like a T-Rex and remain as slim as Mary-Kate Olsen? It's not like she has a stair-master in her crib or anything. Although, I did walk in on her late one evening and I could've sworn I saw her doing little jumping jacks. It was dark in the nursery, however, so I can't be certain.
I kind of like having a baby who acts like a little Tyrannosaurus. In a way, it fulfills my own childhood dream of walking the earth with those legendary "thunder-lizards." Let's just hope that, with her insatiable appetite, my daughter doesn't ever approach the actual size of a T-Rex. Something like that could make it hard for her to find a prom date.

Valentine J. Brkich is a writer and father who sometimes wishes dinosaurs still existed. (And don't give him any of that bull about how they actually do, i.e., alligators and crocodiles. T-Rex wouldn't give those puny things the time of day.) E-mail him today at val@brkichwriting.com.

Gentlemen, Start Your Babies!

(Copyright 2008 by Valentine J. Brkich. First printed in the Sept. 2008 edition of The Point North Magazine, Wexford, Pa.)

So, here we go. Time to enter phase two of The Parenthood Adventure. Up until now, things have been pretty simple. Oh, sure, the past 10 and a half months have certainly been challenging at times, i.e., midnight feedings, diaper disasters, missing binkies, etc. But until just the other day, our baby has been pretty much immobile. This was one of our favorite things about her. She could roll around a little, but, basically, wherever you left her, that's where she'd be when you returned. Not anymore.

The other day my daughter figured out how to crawl. Granted, she's not breaking any land-speed records just yet, but she's moving, nonetheless. Farewell to those lazy days of lying on the floor watching our cute little stationary baby do cute little stationary baby things. Welcome to the days of endlessly chasing after our baby, saying "No!" and "Don't touch that!" and "Hey, drop that beer!"

There is so much more to worry about now. When a baby is just a few months old, you can basically set her anywhere and be confident that she'll still be there whenever you get back. For example, you can leave her on the kitchen counter after you give her a bath in the sink, while you run off to grab a towel from the bathroom, knowing that she'll be right where you left her when you return. Not that I would ever do such a thing.

But now, this has all changed. Now we have to keep an eye on her at all times. Now we have to "baby-proof" the house, as they say. We have to scan every inch of our house for anything she might grab and choke on or pull over or break. We have to cordon off certain areas of our house with those annoying and unsightly gates and barriers. We have to understand that, if we set her down somewhere, say in the living room, while we run off to check our e-mail, there's a good chance she won't be in the living room when we get back. Not that I would ever do such a thing.

The one thing I really don't want to do is put those ugly little rubber guards over all the sharp corners on our furniture. I think instead we should just sell our dangerous wooden furniture and replace it with more baby-friendly inflatable furniture. Do they make inflatable coffee tables?

There are some good things, however, about my baby girl being able to crawl. For one, now she can go get her own toy instead of making Daddy, who's had a long day at work, get up off the couch and get it for her. Furthermore, if I wanted to, I could sit on the couch and toss things across the room for her to go fetch, sort of like if we had a new puppy. Not that I would ever do such a thing.

Valentine J. Brkich is a writer and father who thinks he better get in shape if he's going to be able to keep up with his little munchkin. Drop him a line at val@brkichwriting.com.