Baby BPM is almost 16 months old. An early walker, she is now steadfast. Sure of herself and her ability on her feet. We’ve moved swiftly past those days of trepidatious first steps to cave spelunking, parkour and zip-lining. She is fast, brave and has no sense of her own mortality. A combination that keeps me on my toes and rocking in a corner mumbling, “She is fast, but, I am faster. She is fast, but, I AM faster.” until my husband brings me a cocktail and a number of inspirational quotes he stumbled upon while googling, How do you know when to give your wife a hug or a therapist?
This is my fourth rodeo. By this time, I should be riding the bull with dignity and ease. One arm extended for balance; carrying a full glass of Pinot. A smug look on my face as I dig my heels a bit further into the horned beast. The bull bucking and frothing with no success as I remain seated and calm. Sadly, on this journey around the pen, I’m the clown, continually flailing and tripping in the oversized shoes with soles made of marbles.
I’ve used all my tricks. Baby gates. Items of danger moved out of reach. Barrel locks. She scoffs at these attempts to assure her safety. Gates? What are prehensile feet for if not for climbing gates? Countertops? What are easy bake ovens for if you can’t push them up to a chair, climb the oven to get to the chair and then stand on the countertop with floral scissors? What, your phone charger plugged in to a live socket doesn’t go in my MOUTH? Well, where would it go, pray tell? You DON’T stand on tables to look out of windows? That makes absolutely no sense.
We are in a state of perpetuals. My perpetual panicked creativity as I make failed attempt after failed attempt to contain her small and mighty David Copperfield. Her perpetual, “Bitch, please!” as she looks at me from someplace very dangerous and very high.
The outdoors offer no solace. What it does provide is sticks to pile by the base of the toddler slide so she be certain that if she falls, she has a sharp and pointy place to land. Obviously. The tree stumps that we did not grind because we thought they would make lovely, round toddler tables for outdoor lunches have become Black Eye Mountain as she throws caution and her body to the wind.
Bedtime is our only reprieve. Her exhaustion level after a successful day of near traumatic injury is only met by my exhaustion level at becoming the best untrained, medic/superhero in our solar system. This exhaustion is then met with disbelief when my husband wants to place a romantic spin on my Wonder Woman boots. It’s lasso of truth time, honey. No.
As we navigate this hopefully short-lived, but seemingly endless phase of toddlerhood, please try to ignore the baby in nothing but a diaper and water shoes planking on top of the 6 foot privacy fence. We’re experts, but, seriously…
Do NOT try this at home.