Imp, the Destructor

I have determined that there is no such thing as "babyproof". "Baby-less-accessible" or "baby-supposedly-out-of-reach" or "baby-less-than-easily-destructible" maybe, but definitely not "babyproof". Just when you think something is safe, they will find out how to defeat your best efforts.

This morning, I came into the livingroom to find Imp stuck in a corner between our couch-side table and coffee table, trying, it seemed, to climb on top of the coffee table from that angle. Apparently, Aunt Nanny had just left the room for a minute to go to the bathroom, (I was getting ready for work) and in that time, Imp had figured out how to squeeze through what I thought would have been an impassible network of fan, futon and table legs. I could maybe understand how he could have gotten there in a decent amount of time, but how the heck had he gotten through so fast? The world may never know.

Imp's current favorite activity is taking all the books off of his shelf and stacking them to try to reach the plants on top. Husband and I are trying to think of a way we can engineer something so that we can keep the plants in that window (the best one in the house for them) and still keep them out of reach. I, however, am becoming convinced that Imp has super-gadget-arms, and that "out-of-reach" would involve some sort of warping of the space-time continuum. 

Thing is, Imp isn't even walking yet. Crawling quickly, yes, pulling to standing, yes, cruising adeptly, yes, but not even walking. As excited as I am about the prospect of first steps, soon after he'll be running all over, and then what shall we do?

I used to think bolting furniture to the wall was overkill. I used to think that parents who put foam cushions on everything were being overprotective. I used to think that I understood how to make a room safe for a baby.

Enter Imp, the Destructor.

Everybody Pukes

"Everything that happens to me is the best possible thing that can happen to me" -- Zen and the Art of Happiness

This morning, Imp woke at 6 a.m. ready to play. I had allowed Husband to sleep as much as possible through the night by feeding Imp every 3 hours even though we had been working on stretching it to 6 - Husband had gotten a call from his boss at 10 p.m. last night to have a rather heated discussion about some major miscommunications they'd been having, and he was anticipating another unpleasant meeting today with some other parties involved... so I let him sleep. He was stressed and anxious, I was exhausted, and Imp was his typical teething self. Good morning all!

Husband wanted to take the car to the dealer to be fixed this morning before his meeting because the driver's window was not closing properly, so he tried to move as quickly as possible to get out of the house. Of course, this was one of those mornings when Imp wanted to be held or played with at all times, so I was in some ways grateful for the 6 am wakeup because of the extra time it allowed. Husband left with the car by 7:30, and right before Imp's aunt/nanny came out to take care of him, he spat up rather spectacularly all over my shirt. I went to change, leaving him fussing in the livingroom. I heard Nanny Aunt come out of her room and go to the bathroom, and while I stepped over to the mirror to tie a headband in my hair, I stepped in a giant pile of cat puke. Nanny Aunt came out to deal with fussing Imp, I changed socks and cleaned up the puke, and then stepped out of the house to go to the car -- only to remember Husband had taken it to the dealer. My bike still had a flat tire from 2 weeks ago, so I figured since I had to walk the 1.5 miles to work, I'd drop it off at the bike repair shop just 3 blocks in the opposite direction. Of course, I walked it over there only to see they don't open until 10 am (it was 8:30), so I walked it back to the house, and then noticed Husband had called -- it turned out the dealer only took cars by appointment, so he'd driven to the subway station instead and would have to take it in next week. So I could have taken the car, which might have been nice in this heat...

On days like this, two thoughts quickly pop into my head -- 1st: why is it that all the small creatures in my house puke everywhere? 2nd: How the hell are these things the "best possible" things that can happen to me? I read "Zen and the Art of Happiness" a few years ago, and I found it the be rather soothing and helpful, though at times it is stretch to make the philosophy apply. Maybe I'm being puked on to remind me to be more humble? Maybe Husband is going through all of his work-based-hell to help him deal with these situations in the future? Or to help him learn to remain calm and cool-headed under stress? Maybe walking to the bike shop to find it closed, or driving to the dealer to find one needs an appointment is a reminder to plan ahead?

As I write this, I am trying to ignore the ache in my cheek from going to the dentist yesterday (lost a filling which my insurance may not cover the repair of since it was so recent), and I keep having to backspace using a broken backspace key (it broke a week ago), and stretching out my arches, which are slightly achy from walking 1.5 miles in new sneakers which do not have anywhere near the arch support all the reviews said they had... the best possible thing...

At least for the moment I'm not covered in puke. Simple blessings.