La La How The Life Goes On

Rules and Regs

Posted on: April 26, 2010

No other way to say it: my youngest child is a SPAZ. This kid cannot stay on her feet for more than 5 minutes without smashing her face into the wall, the floor or a large item of furniture. Why? Because she clearly thinks she’s an Olympic sprinter. at the age of 17 months We had friends years ago who had a “no running” rule for their daughter, who was the same age as Bambina. We were incredulous, like, who stops their kid from running except overly-cautious, clearly-troubled individuals who should perhaps read a parenting book or two? OUR CHILD can run anytime! Because we are so enlightened and our child is so smart! Well, pot meet kettle. We have just instituted The Jones Family No Running in the House rule, this after Baby Sister acquired a minor black eye from her latest spill; the 4th of the day. She just so badly wants to run that she forgets that she is still achieving balance while walking. Okay, that and the fact that she doesn’t seem to notice when there are things like shoeboxes or coffee tables right in front of her. She’s just happy-chappying around the room, all pleased with herself and her mad footmobile skills, then BLAM! Hello, dining room chair. Sometimes she wails, but most of the time she looks a bit confused then just gets up and spazzes along to the next misadventure. No big deal for her, exhausting for us.

Speaking of exhausting, last night was my first alone with The Twister Sisters. Oh dear god. As you know, Baby Sister is completely attached to Dada more than anyone. So he went out around dinner time, which meant I only had to do about 3 hours of solo duty. Well, Baby Sister (being a toddler) decided that while Dada was away, she would see if I could (as Jack Nicholson warned) handle the truth. Cue three hours of: running, smashing her face into the floor twice, refusing dinner, and generally being entirely uncooperative–with a smile. I removed her wet diaper and (foolishly) decided that, since we were putting on jammies in 5 minutes, I’d let her freeball until then. You already know how this went, don’t you? Three minutes later I smell a Code Brown–and notice a big chunk of (thankfully cohesive) poop coming out of her pants leg onto the floor. Like, you just HAD to take a crap right now? In this 5 minute period? So I scooped up the poop ball with my hands, and managed to disinfect myself and the area before bed, all the while wondering if she was consciously or unconsciously testing me, to see if i was up to the job. Thankfully there is this invention called a “television” which, when turned on to Sprout On Demand, provides ample child care when one simply must remove poop from one’s hands. So we made it to bedtime unscathed and on good behavior, thanks to the electronic babysitter–and my quick poop-grabbing reflexes. Who’s your mama!



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