Gas prices continue to soar locally and nationally. I may have found a solution, assuming that I can devise a method of collection. Everyone could save a bundle if I could only figure out how to process the gas that Parker provides on a daily basis.
Parker is all smiles, super cute, and quite possibly, the gassiest baby ever. He burps like a middle linebacker and toots...a LOT. I look into his adorable eyes and ask "how are you doing, littlest man?" Most often, his response is with a stinky that surely could rattle his diaper loose. Upright, sideways, laying down, in the tub...he can cut one in all positions. If there was a program for gassy babies, he would be the valedictorian.
Even when he was a few weeks old, he could poot like a car with a bad muffler. More than once (like almost every night) when we would sit down at dinner, he would be chillin like Bob Dylan in his shaky chair and then suddenly, let everyone know he was present by firing one or two off. Of course, Ian, Desi, and Riley think it's hilarious because kids think it's funny. I know, it's natural but the volume of the cheese cutting can't be. It's like he has an amp in his diaper and it's turned to 11.
It's really no big deal until you go out with him. I've been grocery shopping with him and he'll blast one in the cereal aisle. No biggie but it's so loud, that I'm sure a few people think that Dad did it and is trying to blame the baby. Trust me, my mom taught me better than to bust a fluffy at Publix.
Boy, can't wait until the solid foods begin. If his rear is so gifted on breastmilk, imagine what it will create on mushed peas. Not much we can do other than keep the open flames far away and eliminate the explosion possibilities.
Until next time, buh bye.