I Am the Eggman, Oh, They Are the Eggman, Oh, I Am the Horsie. Goo Goo G'joob.

Abbie’s latest infatuation is climbing on my back. It’s important for me to sit on the floor to better interact with the kids on their level and to knock things out of their hands before they eat them more efficiently, but she’s using my benevolence against me. If she keeps this up, I’ll have to stand and tower above them, pointing to things from a distance, and stacking blocks with my feet.

When Abbie was much younger, old enough to sit up unassisted but still too young to move quickly, I’d frequently hoist her onto my shoulders. If we were running errands, it was an efficient way to transport her quickly. I wouldn’t have to worry about her wandering away while she was on my shoulders, nor would she struggle like she did while I carried her normally or held her hand. Her placidity may have been because the new vantage point kept her entertained, or she may have realized from an early age that struggling from on top of daddy’s shoulders could result in a nasty fall. Either way, everyone was happy until I tried locking her back in her car seat.

Now I can’t keep her off my back. Not that she instantly climbs aboard whenever my back is within reach. She usually waits until a moment of boredom, like those horrible seconds when I ignore the book she’s holding to read the book a brother is holding. Then she’ll circle around while I’m distracted, and begin climbing.

She likes to mix up climbing destinations. Sometimes she climbs all the way up top until she’s holding my head with her legs draped over my shoulders. I can live with that position, at least until she leans forward onto my head in an attempt to make me dump her on the floor, straining my neck in the process. Sometimes she’ll wrap her hands around my neck and dig her toes into my waistband or maybe a fat fold. I can live with that position as well, at least until she lifts her feet and supports herself with her arms, depriving my sleep-starved brain of oxygen as well. The position I can’t tolerate is the in-between state, where she vacillates between the floor and my shoulders, picking random spots on my back to jab her extremities, like a rib or a shoulder blade, or maybe just suddenly shift her weight to one side to see if daddy’s back will hold.

If I’m up to the challenge, I use this to my advantage. Just like when she was younger, this is a great way to entertain her. It may torque my back, but it keeps her from terrorizing her brothers, stealing their books and toys, and discovering new foods I left within her reach in the cupboards.

It’s still a great way to transport her throughout the house, too. She hates going to bed, but if she’s on my back, she thinks me moving her to bed is great. I let her hop on as part of her pre-bed routine. We move while I sing. When I reach her bed, I flop forward and slam her into bed. She laughs the entire time, I rough her up a bit more, and walk out of the room while she winds down. If nothing else, she needs a few seconds to recover, giving me enough time to shut the door before she attempts to run out.

This has its moments of joy, but I hope she outgrows this phase soon. My back hurts and my head aches from her leaning too much on my shoulders. I’m guessing she’ll stop climbing on my back about the time her brothers start.