Bocce Ball and Swings

Me back in the day. This is Mimi and I in NY.
A whole month ago.

Since the turn of the year when I made that magical transition from counting my age in months to being able to use the word "year," much change has taken place in my life. In fact, this one month has brought more change with it than perhaps any of the previous 12.

I cut four teeth with five and six on the way. I made my debut on Italian soil (just the airport). I ordered my own plate of gnocchi with bolognese sauce. I ordered my own ravioli. I ate ice cream for the first time. I invented my own version of crawling. I met tons of new friends while in the US. I experienced a hurricane. And I swung in a swing (video of this experience in at the bottom of this post).

But most importantly, after one full year of lulling my parents into complacency, I've adopted the entertaining sport of whizzing at them during every single diaper change. Without fail.

All during my first year I rarely anointed my diaper changers with the infamous weewee shot that boys of that age have mastered. I led them to believe that I was a good boy, a better boy even than all the other boy babies. My parents stopped using the wee stopper and they got lazy.

That's when I made my move.

It was a year long strategy, but it has paid off. The esteemed changers of my diapers were out of the habit and thus had lowered their defenses. When I turned one I thought it would be time to test my plan. It always plays out like this: I lie in wait until they are ever so close to whisking the new fresh diaper under me then I make my move, my poker face revealing nothing. I love to watch the looks on their faces as they realize they've been had. Because it happens every time. There they are, no soiled diaper at the ready any more and a still folded clean diaper then being used to block and defend from the onslaught.

Because I held off an entire year with just maybe a handful of incidents, my parents are surprised every time. After a month of soakings they still haven't learned to distrust me when my weapon is unsheathed.

In some ways though it has had its benefits. Mommy and abba have honed their bocce ball skills. My discarded diapers are usually rolled from the changing spot, be that on the living room floor or on a bed somewhere, to a central location where diapers are collected in one bag and then tossed. The goal of bocce is to roll the game balls as close as possible to the boccino, the first ball rolled. In case you never heard of bocce, you can read more here. My great grandfather, Silvio Schiavi, was a bocce ball champion of sorts.

My favorite visiting times with Nanni and Popi, my great grandparents in NY

Accordingly, my parents have made sport of the diaper toss and it looks like an ongoing game of bocce in our apartment.

Now I understand that I skipped several weeks of juicy blogs while transitioning from the US back to Israel. But have no fear, every delicious detail and photo shall make the blog. It won't be in real time but memoirs never are. And one is never too young to write a memoir as even the sitting US president has.

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