Abbie Gone Wild
I’ve heard that having kids opens your eyes, helps you see the world in new ways, and learn more about yourself. Right now, Abbie is helping me learn about all the little things another human can do that annoy me. Climbing on the countertops is right up there. So is destroying books, especially when she shreds the victimized pages into pieces tiny enough to strew across the floor, yet too big to vacuum. I continuously thwart her with an escalation in childproofing, forcing her to find new ways to endanger either her health or my psyche. Her latest discovery is taking off her clothes.
Abbie has never been a fan of clothing. As a newborn, she was already kicking out of her swaddling blankets on a 4-month-old’s level. We tried putting her to sleep in those sleep sacks with an elastic opening at the bottom that keeps the child warm while allowing easy diaper access for sleep-deprived parents. Every time we pulled her from her crib, though, she had kicked the opening up to around her waist, giving her a poofy shirt and exposed legs. When we took her outside in the cool autumn air, we wrapped a blanket around her for warmth, but her screaming informed us that she’d rather be cold than restrained. When winter struck, we had to experiment with several different forms of foot coverings (socks, slippers, body paint) before finding something that she couldn’t remove yet would be warm enough to prevent strangers from accosting me over her cold feet. She stopped leaving bibs around her neck months ago, and I’ve since learned to live with shirts stained with yogurt and ketchup.
Now she’s working on her shirt. Specifically she’s working on stripping her shirt off and running around the house topless all day. This skill can be helpful when used at the appropriate times. She could take her shirt off for me before changing into her pajamas at night, or she could remove her shirt right before scooping up a large handful of yogurt that’s destined to drip between her fingers before reaching her mouth. Instead she tends to remove her shirt during the day while I’m tied down feeding the boys. Sometimes she’ll use this opportunity to pull shirts out of her dresser, or any other article of clothing she thinks might look good on her upper body, and watch herself trying it on in front of the mirror, oftentimes with her head pulled through a sleeve and the rest of it dangling off her shoulders. Sometimes she just takes advantages of my immobility to run around as a free spirit for a few minutes. Either way I eventually corral her and put a shirt back on her body, preferably the right way, and preferably the original shirt lest I create even more laundry for myself.
Just as annoyingly, sometimes she’ll run around with her shirt pulled up, exposing her tummy and chest for the world to see, or at least her brothers. She’ll do this for minutes at a time, even holding the rolled up shirt under her chin if she needs her hands to do something like hold a book. I can’t figure out why she does this other than she likes the sensation. She’s certainly not imitating anybody she’s seen unless someone threw an after-hours party on Sesame Street that I missed.
The solution to my annoyances is to let her do what she wants. If she’s going to take her shirt off, let her. She’s not doing any harm, especially if she’s inside the house, and she may be doing a good thing if mealtime is near. I guess I’m a stickler for house rules, though, and one of my rules is, except for the obvious exemptions, we wear a shirt and pants at all times, especially at the dinner table. It’s my obsessive-compulsive nature. In the meantime, I’m thankful that she hasn’t figured out how to remove most of her pants, because once those come off it’s an easy leap to removing the diaper too.
Abbie has never been a fan of clothing. As a newborn, she was already kicking out of her swaddling blankets on a 4-month-old’s level. We tried putting her to sleep in those sleep sacks with an elastic opening at the bottom that keeps the child warm while allowing easy diaper access for sleep-deprived parents. Every time we pulled her from her crib, though, she had kicked the opening up to around her waist, giving her a poofy shirt and exposed legs. When we took her outside in the cool autumn air, we wrapped a blanket around her for warmth, but her screaming informed us that she’d rather be cold than restrained. When winter struck, we had to experiment with several different forms of foot coverings (socks, slippers, body paint) before finding something that she couldn’t remove yet would be warm enough to prevent strangers from accosting me over her cold feet. She stopped leaving bibs around her neck months ago, and I’ve since learned to live with shirts stained with yogurt and ketchup.
Now she’s working on her shirt. Specifically she’s working on stripping her shirt off and running around the house topless all day. This skill can be helpful when used at the appropriate times. She could take her shirt off for me before changing into her pajamas at night, or she could remove her shirt right before scooping up a large handful of yogurt that’s destined to drip between her fingers before reaching her mouth. Instead she tends to remove her shirt during the day while I’m tied down feeding the boys. Sometimes she’ll use this opportunity to pull shirts out of her dresser, or any other article of clothing she thinks might look good on her upper body, and watch herself trying it on in front of the mirror, oftentimes with her head pulled through a sleeve and the rest of it dangling off her shoulders. Sometimes she just takes advantages of my immobility to run around as a free spirit for a few minutes. Either way I eventually corral her and put a shirt back on her body, preferably the right way, and preferably the original shirt lest I create even more laundry for myself.
Just as annoyingly, sometimes she’ll run around with her shirt pulled up, exposing her tummy and chest for the world to see, or at least her brothers. She’ll do this for minutes at a time, even holding the rolled up shirt under her chin if she needs her hands to do something like hold a book. I can’t figure out why she does this other than she likes the sensation. She’s certainly not imitating anybody she’s seen unless someone threw an after-hours party on Sesame Street that I missed.
The solution to my annoyances is to let her do what she wants. If she’s going to take her shirt off, let her. She’s not doing any harm, especially if she’s inside the house, and she may be doing a good thing if mealtime is near. I guess I’m a stickler for house rules, though, and one of my rules is, except for the obvious exemptions, we wear a shirt and pants at all times, especially at the dinner table. It’s my obsessive-compulsive nature. In the meantime, I’m thankful that she hasn’t figured out how to remove most of her pants, because once those come off it’s an easy leap to removing the diaper too.
posted by Matt at
10:56 PM
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