Confidential to the person who wrote the instructions and/or drew the diagrams in the instruction book for the Cosco car seat I bought: Seriously, what the hell is your problem? I love how you make sure to remind me on every page that failure to properly install this car seat "can result in injury or death," and yet when it comes to telling me how to install the LATCH hooks you're all, "Oh, reach under the seat pad and fumble around a bit and pull it through a hole somewhere." Even better is coupling this with a diagram of a red arrow and red dotted lines that I can only assume are pointing to the inevitable "injury or death" of my child. Can't wait to take the new car seat out for a spin. Thanks for your help, and by "help" I mean "fuck you."
In other news, I had my first, "What do you have in your mouth?" moment with Gavin today. He was sitting pretty quietly and I could see his jaw working ever so slightly. "What do you have in your mouth?" I asked while simultaneously crouching down next to him and grasping his chin. His reaction was to steel his jaws shut. Whatever he had in there he wasn't letting it go without a fight. Thankfully I am still stronger than him (which is something I expect will continue until he's, say, four or five) and I wrenched my pointer finger in there (the absence of any molars in his mouth was very helpful) and did the standard mouth sweep. Out popped a very slimy piece of dog food, which I immediately picked up and gave to Henri who was waiting near by. He was happy to accept. Perhaps this was Gavin's first rebellion against his vegetarian diet. More likely it was just the intersection of curiosity and a messy poodle.
And where was I during Gavin's Purina* tastefest? Peeing. I know, I know, as a mom pee breaks are not in my contract. But I really had to go. And Gavin was playing with a toy right in the hallway practically in the bathroom doorway so I thought, "Now's my chance!" But as soon as I was compromised he crawled away and out of my sight. He wasn't far away, mind you, but he was out of my direct line of vision since I cannot as yet see through walls (I'm working on that). It was only a few seconds, I swear. Of course, I realize that a few seconds is all a baby needs to wreak havoc. So my pants were barely up as poked my head out the door and rushed to intervene. And I know what you're thinking: "Wait, you were peeing just before fishing doggie kibble out of your son's mouth? Does that mean you didn't wash your hands?" Yes. That is what that means. But desperate times call for desperate measures, people. It's a glamourous life, but someone's got to live it. Besides, if I didn't stick my hands in his mouth right after peeing some kid at daycare will. I'm just helping to build his immune system in preparation.
Gavin's new thing is climbing. Or attempting to climb at least. He tried to climb the baby gate today and he also tried to climb up higher in order to see out of the window in his bedroom. I even think he tried to climb his dresser today by pulling out the bottom drawer to use as a step. I nipped that one in the bud, though, so I can't be sure of his intentions. All I knew was that I'd seen him swing a chubby foot up on the wall and the gate in failed elevation attempts. I wasn't about to take any chances.
There's been no more walking since those first steps the other day. This is in large part because I have not encouraged him to do it again. As awesome as it is to watch, it's also terrifying. I keep thinking about what that woman at the playgroup said about how walking 10-month-olds (and he is, as of today, 10-months-old) are scary because they have no sense. Unlike 1-year-olds, she said. And while a couple of months might not seem to be a big deal, at this age it certainly is. Right now Gavin is fond of, say, crawling under the kitchen table and then trying to stand up, thereby hitting his head. He does the same with his crib. Today he grabbed hold of the edge of the bathtub, threw the washcloths that had been drying there into the tub and proceeded to try to dive headfirst after them. Stacy and I now look at each other and say, "See? No sense" whenever something like that happens.
Take today, for example, when he was trying to get one of the balls from his ball popper out from behind his laundry basket. He'd lean forward to get the ball and then bump his head against the wall. He did this about three times before he seemed to realize that what he wanted to happen and what was actually happening weren't the same thing. That's when he looked to me for help. I didn't get the ball for him, instead I moved the laundry basket away from the wall so that he had a bigger area to work with and he was able to get the ball and not hit his head. I think it's good for a baby to get frustrated sometimes. Because, my god, life is often really frustrating. Sometimes you don't get what you want. Sometimes things don't go the way you expect them to. Sometimes you have to try to do something over and over before you get it. And it's my job to teach my son to be patient, to not freak out every time a yellow ball is trapped behind his clothes basket. In other words, it's my job to raise my son so that he isn't the kid in preschool who gets a toy taken away from him by another child and deals with it by biting that child hard in the face whilst bursting into tears. And I am oh so aware that he is, at this very moment, pushing another two teeth on through into his arsenal. May he please be a lover, not a fighter.
*I love my dog. I would never feed him Purina. He eats only high-end dog food (or, as we call dog and cat food in our house, brown rocks).
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