My Abbie Sense is Tingling
A wise man once said, “With great power comes great responsibility.” This powerful sentiment, once known to only the nerdiest among us, is now broadcast on basic cable. In its original context, it means that someone with great powers, such as a telepathic power of early warning to danger that selectively works in plot appropriate situations, should use that power for the betterment of society, like saving the life of Kirsten Dunst.
I can apply those words to raising a toddler. Specifically, the more powers Abbie gains, the more responsibility I have to take. On the low end of responsibility, I used to be able to sit on the bed playing video games while she lay on her back playing with her gym. If she complained, I could shake a toy in her general direction with one hand while the other hand stayed on the controller and both eyes remained on the TV. Those good times ended when she acquired the ability to roll over, and I had to take responsibility and watch her to keep her from rolling off the bed despite almost being at the end boss.
Now that she can walk pretty well, I need to take even more responsibility. When she wanders away, I can’t just sit on the couch watching the Cubs game no matter how pivotal the situation. She could be headed for the bathroom, which is filled with all sorts of dangerous objects that are basically designed to attract and harm children, like the toilet. Ellie whipped me into shape years ago about leaving the seat down, so the dangerous indignity of Abbie falling face first into the bowl isn’t likely right now since she can only lift the lid a few inches. That limited lifting skill still gives her plenty of room to touch all sorts of icky things like splashings from tinkle, wee-wee, and even bubbles. I do everything I can to keep her from touching the toilet, but she also likes chewing on soap bottles. These bottles have flip-up caps that she loves prying open with her teeth. The prospect of her chugging the contents of an open soap bottle is bad enough, but dried soap tends to accumulate around these caps that she chews on. Too many times I’ve discovered her happily munching on a soap bottle with a cap that’s substantially cleaner than I remember it being. You’d think that soap with its legendary curse word cleaning power would taste would taste traumatically bad to a toddler, but I guess that’s what I get for feeding her spinach for dinner.
All I have to do is keep the bathroom door shut to keep her out of there. This presents a problem though in that Charlie, our morbidly obese cat, likes to hide in the bathtub and absorb the ambient moisture. If I forget to check the bathtub for 16-pounds of Chuck before shutting the door, I might open it a couple hours later and discover a mildly upset cat and a funny smell in the laundry hamper. Also, shutting the bathroom door just narrows her entertainment possibilities and makes it more likely that she’ll decide to pass the time at the top of the basement steps. She loves standing at the top of the steps staring into the concrete abyss of our basement. This makes me very nervous to see since she falls walking down a slight slope, and if she falls trying to walk down steps she will hurt herself very badly, much worse than rolling off our 3-foot tall bed onto carpeting. Fortunately she’s never shown any desire to walk down the stairs, she just likes standing at the precipice and gaze at the decline, like she’s trying to figure out how to get at all of our wonderful stuff in the basement. She also likes to throw things into the chasm. A few days ago she threw something down the steps that I never saw, I just heard the descending tap-tap-tap, and still haven’t found. I imagine when we move I’ll find some baby toy, like a rattle or a soap bottle, and wonder how it got downstairs. Once she also threw a Weeble, but its distinctive thud-thud-thud made it easily located and retrieved. By the way, I can now happily report that an 8-foot fall onto concrete will not hurt a Weeble, or the concrete for that matter.
All I have to do is keep the basement door shut to keep her from chucking toys or a potential fall. Once again, the cats present a problem since all their stuff is in the basement. Locking them away from their food isn’t much of a problem since they could survive for weeks on stored body fat and stray dog food. Locking them away from their litter box for an extended time is a problem, especially if the laundry hamper is also behind a closed door. So I only shut the basement door when necessary. The rest of the time I keep a close eye on her and rely on my Abbie Sense to warn me when she wanders near the basement, and then I intercept, no matter how pivotal a moment the Cubs are in.
I can apply those words to raising a toddler. Specifically, the more powers Abbie gains, the more responsibility I have to take. On the low end of responsibility, I used to be able to sit on the bed playing video games while she lay on her back playing with her gym. If she complained, I could shake a toy in her general direction with one hand while the other hand stayed on the controller and both eyes remained on the TV. Those good times ended when she acquired the ability to roll over, and I had to take responsibility and watch her to keep her from rolling off the bed despite almost being at the end boss.
Now that she can walk pretty well, I need to take even more responsibility. When she wanders away, I can’t just sit on the couch watching the Cubs game no matter how pivotal the situation. She could be headed for the bathroom, which is filled with all sorts of dangerous objects that are basically designed to attract and harm children, like the toilet. Ellie whipped me into shape years ago about leaving the seat down, so the dangerous indignity of Abbie falling face first into the bowl isn’t likely right now since she can only lift the lid a few inches. That limited lifting skill still gives her plenty of room to touch all sorts of icky things like splashings from tinkle, wee-wee, and even bubbles. I do everything I can to keep her from touching the toilet, but she also likes chewing on soap bottles. These bottles have flip-up caps that she loves prying open with her teeth. The prospect of her chugging the contents of an open soap bottle is bad enough, but dried soap tends to accumulate around these caps that she chews on. Too many times I’ve discovered her happily munching on a soap bottle with a cap that’s substantially cleaner than I remember it being. You’d think that soap with its legendary curse word cleaning power would taste would taste traumatically bad to a toddler, but I guess that’s what I get for feeding her spinach for dinner.
All I have to do is keep the bathroom door shut to keep her out of there. This presents a problem though in that Charlie, our morbidly obese cat, likes to hide in the bathtub and absorb the ambient moisture. If I forget to check the bathtub for 16-pounds of Chuck before shutting the door, I might open it a couple hours later and discover a mildly upset cat and a funny smell in the laundry hamper. Also, shutting the bathroom door just narrows her entertainment possibilities and makes it more likely that she’ll decide to pass the time at the top of the basement steps. She loves standing at the top of the steps staring into the concrete abyss of our basement. This makes me very nervous to see since she falls walking down a slight slope, and if she falls trying to walk down steps she will hurt herself very badly, much worse than rolling off our 3-foot tall bed onto carpeting. Fortunately she’s never shown any desire to walk down the stairs, she just likes standing at the precipice and gaze at the decline, like she’s trying to figure out how to get at all of our wonderful stuff in the basement. She also likes to throw things into the chasm. A few days ago she threw something down the steps that I never saw, I just heard the descending tap-tap-tap, and still haven’t found. I imagine when we move I’ll find some baby toy, like a rattle or a soap bottle, and wonder how it got downstairs. Once she also threw a Weeble, but its distinctive thud-thud-thud made it easily located and retrieved. By the way, I can now happily report that an 8-foot fall onto concrete will not hurt a Weeble, or the concrete for that matter.
All I have to do is keep the basement door shut to keep her from chucking toys or a potential fall. Once again, the cats present a problem since all their stuff is in the basement. Locking them away from their food isn’t much of a problem since they could survive for weeks on stored body fat and stray dog food. Locking them away from their litter box for an extended time is a problem, especially if the laundry hamper is also behind a closed door. So I only shut the basement door when necessary. The rest of the time I keep a close eye on her and rely on my Abbie Sense to warn me when she wanders near the basement, and then I intercept, no matter how pivotal a moment the Cubs are in.
posted by Matt at
9:59 PM
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