Thursday, May 22, 2008

Life Turned Upside Down

OK, so I thought I knew what having a boy was like. But each day I find that Charlie lives in a completely different world than me. When I catch a glimpse of Clarissa in a pink garden party hat, with a tulle dance skirt and multi-colored necklaces scooting by pushing her baby in a bassinet, I understand that. I wish I had a camera around my neck for all those moments, because by the time I get it, the hat is off and she is reading on the couch. Reading and dress up I understand.

But when I see Charlie dive headfirst into the tub while it's filling up (and I am otherwise occupied but still in the bathroom--it's just a given that everyone needs you immediately while you're in "the office"), I don't understand that (he wasn't hurt, just scared and sopping wet in his PJs from his head to his chest). When he won't even be held for 5 minutes because he wants to run independently in circles, I don't understand that either. I've heard that kids "get into everything," but Clarissa just didn't. So he scatters buttons around I didn't know were in the sewing desk, pulls nasty garbage out of the kitchen can, pulls clothes that took a week to put away out of Clarissa's dresser, and screams when the stereo blasts Baby Einstein because HE decided (without mommy's knowledge or approval, obviously) it needed to be adjusted while it was off. He wants his coat and shoes on, and brings them to me regularly to go "side." And today, our most recent example of doing things I don't understand, was an acrobatic move that I did not see but heard the "boom and scream." Now a boom is OK, you just listen for a couple seconds to see if there will be a scream. This time there was a scream, so I booked it downstairs (went up to get dressed and check e-mail while the kids were eating--I know, it's TERRIBLE! JUDGE ME NOW!). Hahaha. I used to be a lot more afraid of getting judged as a mom; now I'm mostly working on not judging myself. Anyway, Mr. Crazy had opened his highchair tray and catapulted himself out into space, maybe hitting his head on the nearest chair, definitely upsetting some not-so-delicate internal balance of his. WHAT WAS THE PLAN HERE? If I can just get FREE, if I can just FLY forward, then everything will be...what? So much happier and better! I guess in the magical world of Boyland, daring acts and courageous lack-of-a-plan equal FUN. Anything fast and furious, or at least that leaves mommy furious--now THAT'S a worthwhile activity there.

I think he is (paradox warning) innocently trying to get my goat in brand new ways everyday. After the highchair incident, I was concerned, and properly guilty for not strapping him in, and comforted him, but mostly was thinking, "Who is this creature? Does he come with a two-year warranty? Are we going to make it that far?" I think the Y chromosome stands for mommies saying "WHY did you DO that?" Even afterward, when I transferred him to his sister's booster seat, which is not an antique and has real straps instead of a makeshift belt (thinking, hmmm, he could still push back on the table and fall backward--are we going to have to bolt his seat to the floor?), he proceeded to SPLASH his yogurt/turkey/prunes mixture WILDLY ABOUT (I know, I shouldn't have left again, but was desperate to finish my e-mail I was in the middle of) and quickly propel himself to bath status, which is done by causing anything to be caked in the hair or somehow up the sleeves of PJs or in deep creases of the neck blocked by double chinness. Goopy mess on the table, splatters of his "great idea" all over the floor. And sister just watching and egging him on with her "wild cat" impression each time he did it. Honestly--this boy is giving me a run for my money. Sometimes it's more like, "Go on, take the money and run!" (Except there is no money and nowhere to run--I need to write me a new mommy blues)

1 comment:

Robert said...

That is hilarious, hon! I laughed my head off (yes, at work and out loud)!!!! I'm glad you can vent this way... I know, in the moment, it is very trying.