Bouncing Baby Boy (and I Do Mean BOUNCING)

So, cute baby story. Indulge me, he is still pretty new.

Thanks to the huge generosity of my brother and sister-in-law, we got a ton of baby loot for free. Thank you, thank you, thank you! When I wrote the initial thank you, I had no idea the kind of investment that had been passed along. Now, I think I owe them a much bigger shout-out or a kidney or something.

Included in the bonanza of baby stuff was one of those big-ass spring/saddle things that hangs from a doorway. You plunk the kiddo in it and they can bounce themselves up and down. I never actually know the name of any of the equipment so items are known as "the acute angle thing," "Truth" and "The Magic Monkey Machine." We call the swing "Truth" because IT SETS YOU FREE. Seriously, it is the best thing since pockets on a shirt (or "pop-top beer cans," thanks to BP for that one).

A couple of days ago, Sweet Baby was in the doorway bouncing thing and Humphrey (the 150 pound God Knows What dog we have) walked by. Bebe grabs on to Humphrey's tail. The dog is now pulling him and his huge ass spring across the room. I can't get there fast enough to stop the carnage.

Luc lets go and SLINGSHOTS himself out the door. I, honest to God, fear that he is going to free himself of the seat thing and fly off the deck, down three stories, onto cactus (screaming "I regret nothing!"). However, rather than Thelma and Louise-ing, he is "merely" bouncing all over the place. Side to side. In and out of the door.

I am about to have a full-blown stroke. Even the dog with a brain the size of a walnut is panicking.

Not bebe. He is laughing his ass off. So hard that he wets himself. Seriously, he could not stop laughing with the joy of it all for 10 minutes. He was even slapping his knee like some old guy.
Once I free-based some Valium and chugged some gin, I was fine too. I am not sure that walnut-brain Humphrey has recovered from his role in it.

The good news is that I don't have some wimpy-ass, whimpering boy. Really, is there anything worse? I would also like to state that my brilliant baby clearly got my math and science skills since he has mastered the concept of stored energy. Can mastering Quantum Mechanics be far behind?

The bad news is that we can tell he wants to replicate the event and is constantly on the look-out for his version of a fulcrum.

How can you expect American GIs to go back to the farm once they have seen the dancing girls of Paris? How can you expect a baby boy to go back to jumping off his feet once he has become a dog-enhanced projectile/slingshot?