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Suicide Baby

So we got B these cool tats, and...

No, it's just that he's entering a phase (shouldn't be more than 20 years long) where pretty much everything he does seems designed to get him killed. Every time you tell him "no gates for baby" and take him away from the stairs' edge he laughs and crawls there faster. (The other day C and I put in a bunch of outlet covers, and the first thing B did after being taken away from the gate was to crawl at top speed to the nearest wall, where he put his hand on a now-safe outlet and then looked at me with a puzzled smile, as if to say "This trick used to make you talk loudly and come get me; how come it doesn't work any more?")

When you're holding him, he pushes away, sometimes with a pleasant straightarm to the windpipe. Or he climbs, and when he gets to shoulder nad head he just keeps going. Piss him off, say by taking away the cat food or not teleporting the toy he just dropped back into his hand, and he yells and arches his back. Sending the back of his head walloping into whatever's behind or below him. And that's even before we get to the series production of Escape From the Diaper Table.

C was also a crazy suicidal little mofo, but he was late crawling and walking, so he had a tiny modicum more sense and more responsiveness to commands. On the other hand, by the time he started walking he was also too old to just slavishly follow mom and dad around, so he's never really developed the habit of sticking close, and would gladly dash out into traffic if there was a piece of paper in the middle of the road for him to read. Swings, roundabouts.



( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
May. 29th, 2009 04:53 pm (UTC)
You remind me of why I would have been a helicopter mom.
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )