Balloon love

I'm not sure what it is about balloons that captivate kids so. I suppose it's that they float, and are often covered in colorful pictures and words. And maybe they're associated with parties, cake, and attention. Or it could just be something inherent to balloons. Regardless, Owen has a fiery passion for the round things, particularly ones filled with helium. He practically assaulted a miraculously-still-surviving Valentine's Day balloon at Monica & Klaus' house on Sunday; I guess we figured if the balloon lasted from February 14 to April 13 that it could probably handle Owen's chubby grabs and slobbery gnaws. The problem is it caused him to squeal so enthusiastically that we feared he would wake up Kai, and perhaps any other poor soul trying to sleep somewhere within a 2 mile radius.


So today at the store I bought Owen a Spiderman balloon. My acquiesing to Marvel Comics' marketing seemed somehow more honest than buying him a "Congratulations!" or "Good luck!" balloon. I figure, for a kid with an XY chromosomal makeup, Spiderman is pretty much always appropriate. At any rate, it was love at first grab, kiss, slobber, and shake. He hugged the balloon the whole way home, squeaking it with his hands, squealing at it when it dared to bob above him, and rubbing his face on it. It was then that I realized with some mixture of horror and amusement that Owen felt the way about this balloon that I feel about the tub of cookie dough in our refrigerator.