So no one told me that second children are INSANE. Particularly girl second children who must be into and know about absolutely everything at all times lest their tiny baby worlds spin off their respective axes and we just can’t have that happen, now can we?
I am unhappy with this lack of being told things, people of the Internet.
Emma started crawling, what, two months ago now? Sure. Two months ago. And then about a day and a half later she started pulling up. And an hour later she was cruising around my house like she owned the joint. (I mean, she probably does.)
She was (and is) pulling up on tables and the couch and the entertainment center and the stove and the train table and the crib and the toy box and the toilet (!!!!) and everything that holds still long enough for her to do the standing up business that’s running this show right now, including me and my legs.
Except the problem with this standing up business is that she’s still a wee, tiny peanut baby (HUSH! SHE IS!) and she falls down a lot. And that falling down comes with bumping her head and her face.
The falling down thing is a real thing that happens here quite frequently. And the thing is that I’m powerless to stop it. Unless I sell all the furniture and put her in bubble wrap. And then she’d probably try to climb up the wall. Yay for living outside, I guess. Good thing we’re not every having winter again, apparently.
Wait, what am I talking about here?
Oh, right. Y’all, my baby has her first shiner.
Poor, sweet baby!
Joshua was twice her age before he injured himself like this and his injury occurred in his crib in the middle of the night and we’re still not completely sure how it happened. He went to sleep unscathed and woke up in the middle of the night screaming with a giant goose egg on his head.
Emma? She’s a show off? Advanced? An overachiever? Desperate for attention?
Sunday night right before bath time she pulled up on the coffee table, tried to take a step, lost her footing, and bam. Baby bruise. All with two people in the room less than three feet away from her.
She cried. Oh, god, she cried. And I get it. I wanted to cry just looking at it. I tried to ice it and she was having none of that mess. So I did the next best thing (which is probably what I should’ve done first) and put a boob in her mouth.
She woke up the next morning no worse for the wear but sporting that. That thing that looks like she went a couple rounds as a baby boxer. (But you should see the other kid!!)
Do you think this has stopped her or slowed her down for even half a second? No, no it has not. And at least four times yesterday, she tried to let go of what she was hanging on to (me) and STAND UP WITHOUT TOUCHING ANYTHING.
She’s all “Look, Ma! No han…. ::butt flop::” and then stares at me like “What was that?”
Stop it, kid. You’re giving me heart attacks. Plural. As in I’d like to see you graduate high school. Or, Hell, start kindergarten. And at this rate we may not make it to next week.