holding my breath

Wyatt keeps asking to hear more: "(Re)memba, memba when Papa threw soda in your face? He didn't want your face blue".

Yes, sweet three year old of mine. I remember* when I was little, probably about your age, when my father scooped me up in his arms and threw his Coke (and, I imagine, whiskey though that part didn't make it into the baby book) into my plump little face to stop me from holding my breath; holding it until I turned a pale blue and on occasion, passed out.

*I use the word 'remember' loosely because I only think I remember it, because it was written down in my baby book and passed down in stories to me from my parents. My baby book contained a Polaroid from the hospital, a clipping of my hair, some notes from the first weeks of life and this story; the one about me being spoiled rotten about not getting my way, so much that I held my breath. I guess that's the kind of baby book you get being the third child, slightly better than my younger sister's baby book, which she decided to fill out herself. True story - her little handwriting is all over that book, poor kid.

I digress.

So, now I sit here wondering, waiting, what kind of repercussions am I going to have for telling this story to my children? Is Wu going to start practicing holding his breath so I can freak out and schedule a MRI to confirm that this just isn't a form (albeit persuasive form) of temper tantrums just like my parents did?


Am I the only idiot who shares stories like this with their kids?

Until then, I'm just holding my breath (and spending a lot of time in the McDonald's drive-thru ordering large Diet Cokes - thank you for bringing back the $1 sodas BTW, I love not having to get out of my car - and giving him sips of mine to stave off desires of having it thrown in his own face).