The Secret Society

4 01 2013


Oh, sure, it LOOKS cute.  But let me tell you something: I’ve finally figured out what’s really going on in this picture.  I’ve inadvertently captured on camera a meeting of the Babies and Animals Against Adequate Adult Sleep (BAAAAS).  Oh, yes.  It exists.  My daughter is the president.

And here she is giving orders to her right-hand man.  Here’s an approximation of what she’s saying:

“Okay, Mom goes to bed at 10, after doing all that fun stuff she likes to do.  You know, dishes and laundry and stuff.

I’ll take the first shift, from 10 until midnight.  I just have to decide if I want to do periodic shrieks as though I’m experiencing sudden, inexplicable yet very real pain.  Or if I want to just keep up constant but low-level whining.

At midnight, you take over.  Don’t go straight for the eye-ball scratching, though.  Maybe just cry for some food to start out with.  You don’t want to make her mad right away, or she’ll just throw you outside.  And that’ll be a disaster, because the dog won’t be able to jump on the bed and vomit until 2, 2:30.

And try not to be too loud, I’m going to try to get a little sleep before I wake her up at 4 for a snack.

That’ll teach her for trying to put me in a crib every night.

And if you start to feel sorry for her, I have two words: YOU’RE NEUTERED.

Best of luck, kitty.  See you at the shift change.”


You Can Officially Refer to “The Toddler” Now

4 01 2013

To make up for the fact that she has successfully prevented her mother from getting adequate sleep for almost 16 months now, Hazel has been blessedly slow on the independent-moving-and-exploring front.  She was reluctant to scoot or crawl, and when she finally did, she mostly used her new-found power to make sure I didn’t go to the bathroom unattended.  She’s thoughtful like that.

So the monicker “Toddler” hasn’t quite fit her.  Until: that quintessential “toddler” moment, with the mother shaking her head and swearing “I only turned my back for a moment…”  I was 5 feet away from Hazel, browning some meat on the stove, while Hazel played in my baking drawer with measuring cups and spoons and a pastry blender – and, apparently, a poorly contained bag of powdered sugar:


Oh, and not just playing with it.  As I snatched up the camera, she dipped a measuring spoon into the mess, licked it, and declared it “MMMMMMM,” which is the pre-verbal equivalent of 5 stars.  And then threw some up in the air, just to see what would happen (with the predictable result of getting into her hair, all over her face, down her shirt, and into her ears – a successful experiment if there ever was one).

The next day, Hazel took her first “real” steps.  That is to say, she successfully made it from one prop to another, without falling and just because she wanted to, not because some conniving adult let go of her and forced her to take a few stumbling steps to keep from face-planting.  And then she turned around and went back to her original position, and then an hour later, she did it again in a totally different place, so I could no longer deny that she has the capability to walk.

And so I have to come to terms with this new phase a life, in which my baby is still MY baby, but to the rest of the world, she’s one of those stumbling, bumbling, babbling creatures who are just a few motor skills and basic math facts away from going off to college…

In other words, I have a toddler now.

And, boy, am I in for it.


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