Just back from putting Baby down for her first nap and it seems Toddler couldn't decide which Pooh DVD she wanted to view because she shoved both into my laptop causing it to "suffer an error the DVD player cannot recover from." (Or, more correctly, an error from which it cannot recover.) And though I am hardly Handy Mommy, I have managed to save the day and nurse the suffering laptop/DVD back to life. So now that Baby is snoozing and Laptop is breathing and we've gone from zone parenting to the more dependable man-0n-man, it's time to blog. Well, in my estimation, this Wednesday morning is already far smoother and far superior to the debacle that was last Wednesday. Sure, it's still early. And, yes, there are plenty of elevated surfaces from which Baby might tumble and the fridge and cabinets are stocked with dozens of dairy products she might accidentally sample, but I'm feeling rather good about things. Allow me this odd surge of optimism. Please.
The morning was fun. Baby and I sat on her little foam mat thing (to protect that little noggin from those naughty wood floors) and played catch with a (closed!) snack-size bag of Veggie Booty. Yes, Baby is quite the little smartie at seven months, but, no, she doesn't yet know how to play catch. So, it was more a game where she would bite the bag, slime it with drool, gnaw it some more and then drop it at which point I would give it back. Crinkle. Drool. Gnaw. Drop. Repeat. You get the picture. (Yes, Veggie Booty is a dairy product and an inappropriate snackfood for any infant, but that bag is so sublimely crinkly in character and we are rebellious chez Rowley and couldnt resist.)
And it seems that I don't need that Mommy Cam after all for I have Toddler to keep an eye on me. And maybe she remembers the events of last Wednesday as crisply as I do (and as my Mom does she just called to see if I need reinforcements) because Toddler seems to be taking this supervisory role quite seriously. As Baby and I played on the floor, Toddler took a breather from her hearty second breakfast of Smart Puffs and called to me from her little sanctuary on the sectional, "Mommy, be careful with the Baby!" I looked up at my two-year-old, perched precariously on that ultra-suede pedestal, nodded and said soberly, "I will be."
And as Toddler's admonition echoed in my head, it occurred to me that maybe Baby and I should be playing with some more appropriate old school toys. But then I had a snack-size epiphany: we parents should not spend one measly cent on baby toys. Because there we were, Baby and Mommy, surrounded by a rainbow sea of toys and teethers and blocks and books and these are the things (other than the bag of Veggie Booty) that Baby had a blast playing with:
(1) A white feather she finagled from a throw pillow;
(2) White Cat's tail;
(3) The remote control;
(4) A box of baby wipes;
(5) A fistful of my bangs;
(6) Star magazine (Come on. Don't judge. How else am I supposed to know that Jessica Simpson is an obese size 4?)
And it occurred to me that this shouldnt amount to any kind of epiphany, however tiny, because Toddler taught me this lesson long ago. And keeps teaching me it. These days, she boasts impressive collections of bendy straws, band-aids, nasal aspirators, and toothbrushes. And, in case you were wondering, baby food jar tops make perfect hockey pucks.
In case you were worried about my parenting skills and my ability to cease rambling, the point of this post is: it is Wednesday and we are surviving.
[And, yes, Wednesdays are more Play-Doh than Plato, but don't think I can't multi-task... My latest idea? Instead of Mitch Albom's TUESDAYS WITH MORRIE, it will be ADR's WEDNESDAYS WITH MOMMY. And the stories will be so delightfully raw and real, full of humor and humility, that Lady Oprah will come a-calling...]
Time to run. Baby is awake. Toddler has threaded both arms through the dainty little neck of her peach nightgown and is now sprinkling my laptop with Smart Puff "fairy dust."