Confession time (again). Right around the time one of my kids turns 15 months, I lose my humanity. Until they reach about 3 years old, I'm befuddled, exhausted, spacey. Symptoms of this manifest themselves in a myriad of ways.
At church, you might be in the middle of a conversation with me and I will, without dismissing myself, scamper away with wide eyes.
On the phone, you might find that you are having a conversation with two people. Or four people. It might sound something like:
"Yesterday I was at the grocery...DON'T STAND ON THE TABLE!...and the avocados were...WE DON'T EAT LEGOS!...such a good...OH NO!...I have to go...**click**
If you have been a victim of either of these situations, my apologies. You see, from 15 months to 3 years old, I feel like my every day is solely devoted to keeping my child alive. Cade in particular. I used to joke about how Stone was going to be the kid who walked out of the house with a cape and a plunger saying, "Don't ask if you really don't want to know, Mom."
But Cade...
You can only childproof your house so much. I can keep him out of sockets and ovens, and most of the time dryers, but try keeping him off couches, tables, cats, piano benches, toilets (older brothers aren't always diligent about closing bathroom doors), and weight benches. I'm convinced that dare devils are really people with faulty depth perception. Think about it.
At any rate, now that it's summer, I have some back up to help me chase him from one near-death feat to another. Pearce and Cole are invaluable partners in the cause of keeping Cade alive. When Stone was this age, we lovingly called him Babyzilla. But that term doesn't do Cade justice.
We spend our days getting from morning to nap time and then again to night-night time. And each time we let him out of his crib, someone yells, "Release the Kraken!"
2 comments:
Apology accepted, except my phone conversations are with you as you go through different drive-thrus where you are having a conversation with me, the order person, the pick up person, the 2 or 4 people in the back seats. Then as you pull out into traffic you're suddenly yelling at someone in front of you, except I think you're yelling "WHAT IN THE HECK ARE YOU DOING?" at me and I don't know what I've done and then you say "I'm sorry, Mom, I was yelling at the driver in front of me."
We call my littlest one Casey-zilla. I am not looking forward to him starting walking!
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