Stand by Your Man
I was excited when Ian and Tory started pulling themselves to standing unassisted. It meant they were developing properly, even early. Not just any 8-month-old, 8-week-early baby can pull himself to standing unassisted. I wouldn’t have to fret about when they would start standing, and can instead focus my attention on fretting about other milestones such as crawling and talking. Plus being able to stand opens up a new world of entertainment options for them. They can pull books out of the book basket. They can play with the top of the IncrediBlock. They can pull newspapers, phones, and other forbidden objects off the sofas. I can now line up the remotes for the TV, VCR, DVD player, and stereo across the loveseat, and enjoy unbroken minutes of peace as they grope along the top of the cushions.
After observing them stand for a couple weeks now, I’m less excited about their newfound mobility. Just because they can stand up on something doesn’t mean they can sit back down. Far too many times, I’ve been doing something critically important like washing dishes or searching for valuable coupons, and had to stop when I heard a little man scream. Not the ordinary whining I often hear and ignore, but the full-blown, purple-faced, refusing-to-inhale screaming that tells me they’re furious, in pain, and/or suffering permanent psychological damage. I’ll remove my rubber dish gloves or set down the advertisements, and find a mini-man not in danger, but having scaled a wall and not knowing how to get back down.
At this point the climber is too upset to tolerate being laid back down, so I have temporarily abandon my housekeeping and do some actual parenting. If my former job was only mildly critical, say I’m washing dishes but still have enough bottles for the next feeding, I can sit down and entertain everyone for a few minutes before returning to my work that’s only indirectly related to the children. If my job was desperately critical, say because a turkey baster is the closest thing we have to a clean bottle, I need to carry him with me for my chores until he calms down. This requires me to invent new ways to work with only one free arm. Sometimes I use one arm to hold a baby and a flier while I clip the coupon from it with my free hand. Sometimes I use my teeth to sort ads into pitch and keep piles. Mostly I just work half as fast with my one good hand while I lose all sensation in my other arm.
When my work is done and I can sit and entertain them, they still get stuck while climbing. The difference is instead of climbing on the entertainment center, they climb on me. They’ll grab my shirt, arm hair, exposed skin, or whatever else provides traction, and pull themselves up. Sometimes they fall back down as my shirt slips or I recoil in pain after losing a few hairs by their roots. If they do fall, they climb right back up to my side until they get what they want.
Sometimes they want held, which isn’t a problem as long as I don’t already have a brother on my knee and a sister with a book splayed across my remaining lap. Sometimes they want, well, I don’t know what they want. I’ll pick up one, and he immediately starts squirming and grabbing at the floor. I’ll set him back down, and he immediately tries climbing back up my arm. We’ll repeat this cycle a few times until I give up and bring out the surefire entertainment: Remote controls.
After observing them stand for a couple weeks now, I’m less excited about their newfound mobility. Just because they can stand up on something doesn’t mean they can sit back down. Far too many times, I’ve been doing something critically important like washing dishes or searching for valuable coupons, and had to stop when I heard a little man scream. Not the ordinary whining I often hear and ignore, but the full-blown, purple-faced, refusing-to-inhale screaming that tells me they’re furious, in pain, and/or suffering permanent psychological damage. I’ll remove my rubber dish gloves or set down the advertisements, and find a mini-man not in danger, but having scaled a wall and not knowing how to get back down.
At this point the climber is too upset to tolerate being laid back down, so I have temporarily abandon my housekeeping and do some actual parenting. If my former job was only mildly critical, say I’m washing dishes but still have enough bottles for the next feeding, I can sit down and entertain everyone for a few minutes before returning to my work that’s only indirectly related to the children. If my job was desperately critical, say because a turkey baster is the closest thing we have to a clean bottle, I need to carry him with me for my chores until he calms down. This requires me to invent new ways to work with only one free arm. Sometimes I use one arm to hold a baby and a flier while I clip the coupon from it with my free hand. Sometimes I use my teeth to sort ads into pitch and keep piles. Mostly I just work half as fast with my one good hand while I lose all sensation in my other arm.
When my work is done and I can sit and entertain them, they still get stuck while climbing. The difference is instead of climbing on the entertainment center, they climb on me. They’ll grab my shirt, arm hair, exposed skin, or whatever else provides traction, and pull themselves up. Sometimes they fall back down as my shirt slips or I recoil in pain after losing a few hairs by their roots. If they do fall, they climb right back up to my side until they get what they want.
Sometimes they want held, which isn’t a problem as long as I don’t already have a brother on my knee and a sister with a book splayed across my remaining lap. Sometimes they want, well, I don’t know what they want. I’ll pick up one, and he immediately starts squirming and grabbing at the floor. I’ll set him back down, and he immediately tries climbing back up my arm. We’ll repeat this cycle a few times until I give up and bring out the surefire entertainment: Remote controls.
posted by Matt at
11:52 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home