Yesterday at 4 pm Patter sliced the base of his thumb on the lip of a soda can. A soda can I allowed him to play with despite the little voice in my head that urged, Pitter cut his finger on a tin once; take this can away immediately!
Fortunately, it stopped bleeding pretty quickly and didn’t even require a bandage. Crisis averted.
This morning at 1 am Patter cried from his crib for a snack/to co-sleep. When we fell back asleep after nursing in my bed I was vaguely aware that he had rearranged himself in an odd position against me: his feet were by my ears and his head was near my waist. A little voice in my head urged, Beware of this! He may scoot down in his sleep!
Surely you can guess what happened next, around 3 am:
BOOM!
WAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
That’s right: he crawled right off the end of the bed and fell two and a half feet onto the floor.
Fortunately, he woke up this morning chipper and with functioning use of his brain, so second crisis averted.
Mother of the Year I am not.
In happier news, Pitter met his idol, the great PBS character, SuperWhy, this weekend. I imagine this is whom he imagines meeting at the Pearly Gates. If he imagines such things. But he probably doesn’t because we haven’t had much time to explain Heaven with all the threats of Hell we give him for his all-around rotten behavior as of late.
Ha. I kid.
Sort of.
I’ve read some parents who say that age 2 is just the teeniest bit “terrible” compared to age 3. So I’ve been quasi-prepared for a decline in happy days around here. But then recently I read that age 4 has it’s own set of woes and that kids really stable out around 5. NO ONE TOLD ME THIS INSANITY WOULD POTENTIALLY LAST FIVE YEARS! PER CHILD! W.T.F.?
Oh, SuperWhy. We have some Super Big problems to solve.
3 comments
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June 30, 2009 at 8:46 am
Mymsie
Please investigate what cream SuperWhy is using to make his eyes so bright and free of surrounding bags and wrinkles!
July 1, 2009 at 8:46 am
westwardbound
I believe it’s a Lancome product.
July 2, 2009 at 2:45 pm
Jen
With regard to parenting tactics that consist (in my case, anyway) of looking the other way to avoid a tantrum that I’m not up to facing, I had to establish this rule of thumb: if I would sound like an idiot explaining it to the emergency room doctor, then intervention is best. Like the time we considered feeding the boy hot dogs that had a slightly green cast to them. “Well, doctor, the hot dogs looked a little mossy but we decided to cook ‘em up anyway!” (We threw them away.)