June 30, 2009
I remember Alexa once asked her readers when, exactly, babies grasp the concept of gravity. Or at least begin demonstrating a goddamn lick of SENSE. I admit I didn't read the response in the comments. Frankly, I was afraid the answer would be 42.
Ezra is...oh God, he's killing me lately, with his countless, endless, senseless attempts to kill himself. He's still trapped in this hideous stage of pre-mobility, where he doesn't crawl or roll so much as LAUNCHES his body in various directions. If that direction happens to have a soft surface or a paying-attention-type person handy, or at least be free of sharp edges or bottomless furniture-to-floor chasms, well, bonus. But he's not going to be picky about it, or anything.
He doesn't pull up on things nearly as well as he pulls them OVER, and yesterday he spent 20 minutes trying to pull up on our coffee table but kept scooting his body UNDER the coffee table, and then thwacking his head on the underside when he tried to stand up from this wedged-in position, and while I never, ever want to disparage my brilliant, adorable children, our cat used to do the same goddamn thing with the kitchen cabinets. We'd to sit in the living room, listening to the THUMP THUMP THUMP because he couldn't figure out how to keep the door from closing once he got it open a few inches with his paw, so he just tried walking into the closing door FASTER. And you know what? That cat never managed to hold onto a job either. We're still supporting his ass.
I don't remember going through this stage with Noah. If we did, it certainly didn't drag on this long -- according to the almighty archives Noah was crawling and standing and generally upright most of the time by this age -- a month or too earlier, actually. I remember the bumps and bruises and the terrible sense of doom when he crawled over to the stairs one day and...oh shit, just kept on going up with remarkable skill. When he decided that he wanted to move, he MOVED. Bam. Done. I remember hating mobility, cursing mobility, but I don't remember months of this in-between sturm and drang and loopty-loops off the edges of furniture.
But I don't remember holding Noah on the couch and suddenly SHHOOOWWWWOOOOOOOP! The baby kicks off my lap and lunges headfirst toward Jason, who is sitting all the way across the goddamn room, and for two and a half terrible seconds his body is completely airborne and not in my control at all and his face is heading right toward the edge of that stupid coffee table (mark my words, future generations will look at coffee tables the way we look at BPA-laden bottles and stomach sleeping and opium-laced teething tablets)...and then if I'm lucky I manage to hook my elbow around his neck, or something similarly graceful.
I remember, once Noah outgrew his swing and bouncy seat, taking him into the shower with me. Just...plopping him on the floor of the tub with a toy or two, letting him play and splash in a half-inch puddle while I blocked the rest of the water with my body and went about my business. I do this with Ezra now, only he is firmly restrained inside of a suctioned-cup bath seat with a jury-rigged seat belt, and I shower faster than I ever have in my LIFE because I am absolutely terrified of what he'll manage to accomplish if I turn my back on him for two seconds to rinse shampoo out of my eyes. I cannot rinse! I simply live with the burning!
Ez shrieks and kicks and tries desperately to get his hands in the water -- not really attempting to climb out of the seat so much as leaning over so far and rocking around so violently that I'm afraid the finish on the tub will give out before the suction cups -- and the thought of just SETTING him down in the tub is so ridiculously laughable, and I sincerely hope I didn't advise anyone on the Internet to try my Great Showering Solution because HOLY CRAP, Ezra would be face down in the drain while I moaned from the bathroom floor after he mistook my ankles for bowling pins.
Don't get me wrong -- I'm not lamenting Ezra's lack of real mobility. I know it's not going to get "better" or "easier" just because he can get his arms and legs working in unison. In fact, I imagine it will be quite the opposite. I imagine I will re-read this entry and laugh -- nay, laff! -- at how I was once so concerned over a small potential faceplant into the coffee table, because NOW I can't pull a shirt over my head without him hurtling down the hall at top speed and barreling down the stairs (because he saw something shiny, or a shoe) (he loves shoes. dirty ones. he will scoot quite admirably to get to shoes. and then he will lick them.) (this just in! babies are gross, kind of stupid). I'm sensing that Ezra may not have some of Noah's more sensible, methodical, non-spazzoid traits and tendencies. I'm sensing that he may be quite the opposite. That he will be my boy-boy, my daredevil, the one who hurtles through life at his own pace with boundless, reckless enthusiasm.
And always, ALWAYS headfirst.