Sunday, May 21, 2006

The Bad Mommy Chronicles, Part II

You've probably figured this out by now, but although I'm a mommy, this is not a mommy blog. That's not because I have anything against mommy blogs or mommy bloggers. It's mostly because I've figured out there's a better than 50% chance that at some point Jake will be taken away from me by the state, and I expect that when that happens, I'll be too busy wallowing in self pity and drowning my sorrow in pure grain alcohol to want to deal with having to start a new blog. I'll want to keep on being Karlababble--after all, I'll have already suffered enough loss at that point without having to also lose my beloved blog, and my beloved (albeit depraved and misguided) blog commenters. While the rest of the world will judge me harshly for being an unfit and dethroned mother, you will still be there for me, if only because you lack the moral compass to understand my crimes.

So no, this is not a mommy blog. However, from time to time I am compelled to inform you of some cute or interesting thing Diaper Butt has done recently. Or, as in this case, some close call in which he narrowly escaped with his life and all four tiny limbs.

All stories in our house these days seem to begin with, "I left Jake alone for a split second, and by the time I turned my back...," and end with a description of a David Blaine-type stunt performed by my toddler. A few days ago, I was cleaning the living room, and had my eye on Jake, who was playing in his room. He was sitting on the floor talking to his toys, which seemed safe enough to me. I went about my cleaning, and after a moment I noticed it was too quiet in the house. This is always a bad sign. When Jake is behaving himself and everything is normal and good, he chatters away ceaselessly--a trait he gets from his father. When I suddenly realize a silence has fallen over the house, it's time to panic. This kind of quiet invariably means Jake has discovered something dangerous and is stealthily trying to get himself killed before I have a chance to interrupt him. When I peered into his room to see what he was up to, I saw that he had climbed up onto the little table by his bed, and was sprawled across it on his belly, legs outstretched behind him as he gripped the edge of the table and peered over it as if he were peering cautiously over the edge of the world's tallest building.

"No!" I scolded him as I picked him up, envisioning him tipping the thing over with his Tony Soprano belly leading the way, subsequently bashing his big head on the floor.

A few mornings later I was getting some breakfast ready for him in the kitchen when I thought of something I wanted to tell Brian, who was in the bathroom getting ready for work. Jake was banging a wooden spoon against the kitchen floor when I left him. I chatted with Brian for a few minutes in the bathroom until I realized the banging had stopped. Taking note that the house was now filled with that "suicide quiet," I knew I'd better locate my chubby little masochist fast. Leaning around the corner to look for him, I saw he was no longer in the kitchen. I found him in the living room, on top of our behind-the-couch table crawling in a tight circle on the glass top as he looked over each edge. "No!" I admonished him as I picked him up, imagining him throwing the whole glassy, irony death trap off balance as he crashed to the floor in a screaming heap.

Today Brian was at home in the living room, having taken note of the fact that Jake was gnawing on toys in the dining room. When Brian heard the sound of one of our ceramic coasters clanking against wood, he sighed and headed for the dining room, thinking Jake had somehow managed to reach far enough onto the table to grab a coaster and had begun banging it against a chair leg. Instead he found Jake standing on the dining room table clutching his coaster, apparently squatting now and then to thunk it against the table top.

So you see my problem; the kid's an adrenalin junkie. Next, I expect to find doing cartwheels on the roof of our house, or possibly scaling the city water tower, or perhaps attempting to bungee jump off of an overpass. This won't look good to the busybodies at Child Protective Services, so I need to take some preventative measures, fast. I'm still fairly new to the whole mommy thing, so maybe some of you more experienced types can take a look at my list of ideas and see which one sounds best:

-Stapling his feet to the floor.
-Chaining a boat anchor to his leg.
-Magnetizing the floors in our house and making him wear magnetic booties.
-Putting a brick in his diaper.
-Greasing up all our furniture with Vaseline so he can't get enough traction to climb on it.
-Putting an inner tube around his middle so he bounces when he hits the floor after falling off a table or chair.
-Putting an Elizabethan collar on him, like the ones pets have to wear to prevent them from licking a wound too much. (This wouldn't solve the climbing problem, but it'd be fun to watch him walk around wearing the thing. Plus it'd make for some funny pictures to post on my blog.)
That's all I've thought of so far. I'd probably have been able to compile a more comprehensive list if I weren't so busy snatching Jake off the various furniture items in my house. What happened to the good old days when a mother could ignore a kid for hours on end and he'd still be in one piece at the end of the day?

28 comments:

Vincent said...

You realise he's going to be a base-jumper when he grows up, just to rebel against all those times you stopped him fulfilling his base instincts.

Pun intended.

jackt said...

Hahaha Elizabeth collars. They're not just for protection. They're a fashion statement.

Christi said...

Now, now...have you let him get off of the furniture by himself yet? He may surprise you. Perhaps he, like my children, is made of rubber, and will bounce right back when he falls. Or, maybe he can fly. Or, he may be like a cat and can land on his feet no matter what. You must always let your child explore the extent of his skills and talents...

Natalie said...

I'm thinking you should just do everything at the same time- just in case.

Imagine him wearing a collar and an inner tube and trying to climb up the vaselined table with his brick and magnetized booties dragging him down- it ain't happening. (Though if it does, get a picture)

p.s. I didn't enter the word verification right the first time, and now it's showing a wheelchaired person next to the box. What is THAT all about?

Mighty Dyckerson said...

Two words: Invisible fencing.

You know, that stuff you can bury underground to keep your dog in your yard. The dog wears a special collar that zaps him if he strays beyond your yard. You can do the same thing with your little crap factory. Of course, you'll have to jack up the voltage...

Antonio said...

Look I might be depraved, but I am NOT misguided. There's a very specific method to my madness, it just takes certain psychedelic drugs to appreciate it.

I suggest avoiding the brick diaper. Could you imagine having to clean that thing? Yuck.

doctawife said...

How about one of those restraining systems that go around the shoulders and belly? Just hook him up to a cabled leash system and you're golden.

Or at least until he gets fine motor conrol and learns how to unhook things.

Damn those opposable thumbs! They should require a license.

Mr. Fabulous said...

Thank you *so much* for recognizing our depravity.

Bout time.

Lee said...

I think I'm of the opposite school of thought - let him fall! My mother burned my hand ever so lightly as a child with a match and, strangely, "Tiny Pyro" disappeared overnight!

Sure he might break a collarbone or get a wee little bit of brain damage, but if he hurts himself once he'll stop doing it.

If that's not your cup of tea, Mighty's "invisble fencing" idea gets my vote.

Amerloc said...

I'm not a huge fan of the invisible fence at all. See, on rare occasions, something MUST be chased or explored, even if it is on the other side of the pain barrier. You force yourself to bear the pain for that brief moment, and cross the line. Then, when the time comes to return, and the sense of urgency is gone, you can't. You're left to wander just outside that zone, whining.

melissa.in.london said...

I nominate hog tying. But not too tightly. You wouldn't want him to be uncomfortable.

AnonymousCoworker said...

It's never too early to get him started in some fetish gear that features, primarily, a leash.

Old Horsetail Snake said...

No no no. What you do is stuff him in a backpack until he's about 14. Then, just when you get tired of hauling him about, he'll discover girls.

THEN your troubles REALLY begin.

Sincerely,
Mr. Depraved (but not Malicious)

Caryn said...

Don't have a kid yet, and already I'm dreading those toddler days. Those and the teenage years.

jane said...

How about one of these?

Jodi said...

hGosh, I don't really have any suggestions that haven't already been offered. Except perhaps gin and maybe some Zanex. After baby passes out then Mommy takes some of the special yum-yum medicine too.

Other than that all I can say is this too will evenually pass. Then you'll be dealing with girls and hormones and all that really fun stuff. OY.

jules said...

I'm laughing at the thought of the Vaseline on the furniture. That would just add to his fun, though. Just find out now what your medical deductibles are and save that amount up.

Jodipodi said...

I have two toddlers, both of whom are also keen on base jumping, climbing, bouncing and generally breaking everything we own. If you manage to get hold of some magnetic flooring and booties, I will order 2 pairs!

p.s. I knew that jumbo tub of vaseline in my bedside drawer would come in useful one day! ;)
Who needs to walk, when I can slide everywhere!?

Beeb said...

That is the one of the best 'mommy' posts I've ever read!!! I can see all those mommy bloggers all gasping at the same time. Maybe you should join a mommy blog ring?

the belligerent intellectual said...

My mom was fond of the "teaching teachingt hrough experience" method, meaning she would let us fall off the furniture and then as we were twitching on the floor sternly say, "You see what happens? You were having fun, but now we have to go to the hospital and they will have to drill a hole in your head to reduce the pressure of your swelling brain. That doesn't sound fun. Does it."

The Bard of the Wood said...

I'm with Antonio...I resent that you think of me as "misguided."

Although the very fact that I used the phrase "I'm with Antonio" may have just proven me wrong.

Dustin said...

is it bad when i skip over your mommy posts? I feel so dirty when I do that....

with sprinkles said...

I’d go the Elizabethan collar route. It would make feeding him a cinch. Some cheerios, a little milk and voila he’s his own bowl.

Kristen said...

Actually, the inner tube around his middle isn't a bad idea at all. My brother fell down some concrete steps when he was six months old, but luckily the old fashioned rolling "walker" he was in actually ended up protecting his body from any broken bones. And they call those walkers "death traps" now... hmph!

Detroiter said...

Bah! You're being waaay overprotective. A few lumps on the head never hurt no one. Even if, there's always Special Olympics.

andy said...

Dude, Carla, as much as Dyck is cool with me, and if I recall correctly is stalking you, those underground fencey-honkers are no effing good. Our dog growing up liked it and would stand over it like a fat lady in a house coat over a trough of mustard. It was bad, y'all.

Our current dog also had to style one of those ElizaBITCHIN' collars a while ago. That's some good shit.

Your shit cracks me the hell up.

tsb said...

You kill me ......

mom and dad said...

Thanks for the parenting tips!

We offered some derivative ideas on our blog. Have you tried nailing his head to a coffee table? =)