Holding Timothy is sometimes an adventure, and so it was a few days ago when Timothy decided to combine a few of his favorite hobbies. I was holding him when he spit up on his hands and then started running his newly covered hands through my hair. Though I wouldn’t want him to do that everyday, I must admit that it worked better than some of the hair gels I use.
Under the ‘don’t try this at home’ file, Timothy is sampling a new habit – drinking his bath water. I can understand the novelty – wind in your hair, bath toys as your side, surrounded by something that you can splash into your mouth. But it’s just not a great idea, as is evidenced by the surprised look on his face when he emerges from the deep with a mouthful of aqua.
Speaking of water, I spent three days last week in Leadville, Colorado with the executive directors from the Outward Bound schools, who came in from all over, from Maine to San Francisco. It’s a talented and nice group of people and it was great to get together and have some very good discussions. But spending a few days at 10,000 feet was sobering. Beforehand, people told me that adjusting to high altitude required three things — ‘slow down, drink water, get rest’. I decided to disobey that advice, and found myself not feeling very well and sometimes short of breath. As if I needed it, I got another reminder to stop running around so much, so now I’ll see if I can have more success slowing down, drinking water and getting rest at sea level.
And we’ll have a little opportunity to slow down on Friday, when Timothy goes in for his ABR (audio brainstem response) ear test. This will be the second of these tests and will hopefully give us, at last, a good reading on his hearing. (One sign that he may be able to hear pretty well is that he looked down after he passed gas when I was reading to him this evening. I think that he was looking down to see where the noise was coming from, though he may have just been avoiding eye contact after his noisy toot.)
As the football playoffs are in full force, the announcers talk about the ‘injured reserve’ list for each team – that X player won’t play because of a hamstring injury or Y player is sidelined with a bad knee. I think that this concept could be easily translated to we aging parents, considering the pile up of nicks and bruises.
Our report might read like this:
-Laura Lee –- (Bad Back) ‘Doubtful’ for carrying carseat after straining back lifting up Timothy-filled carseat
-Jack Lee – (Banged up Knee) ‘Unlikely’ to be running around after hitting knee on bathtub during T’s bath time
-Laura Lee – (Ouchy Hair) ‘Questionable’ for holding baby near face after Timo pulling hair very, very hard (and many, many times)
-Jack Lee – (Strained Ribs) ‘Out’ of lifting boy over head anytime soon after pulling a muscle reaching too quickly to pick up TRBL
The changing table is a versatile piece of furniture. You buy one before the baby arrives, with visions of using it to change the baby until the he’s out of diapers. For us, it served as a changing table for about 6 months before Timothy’s size and squirming rendered it a dinosaur. These days, we change the little gremlin’s diaper on the floor of his room. Meanwhile, the changing table serves two functions — its shelves provide the primary storage for all burp clothes, bibs, towels and diaper related supplies, and the top of the changing table — formerly the scene of the ‘changing’ function — is now an open faced junk drawer, holding everything that we don’t want Timothy to get at in addition to the stuff we brought into his room and forgot to put away.
The structure also provides a third function. It is something of a ladder for Timothy to practice pulling himself up. This is nice, since pulling himself up is a good precursor to standing up and walking. But when the now upright toddler comes face to face with that trove of linens, it results in a storm of flying burp cloths and bibs, as the wide eyed boy pulls everything off the shelf faster than a shopper on Black Friday.
When this happens, you’re torn – you want him to be standing up and you’d hate to interrupt the display of fine and gross motor skills as bibs fly from the shelves, but you also aren’t in the mood to refold and replace the entire linen supply.
But if you don’t intercept the toddler-table tandem in the first thirty seconds, you’re screwed.
And that’s about the time that drinking bath water doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.