Belly Up

In a bid to frustrate us parents and make us realize who is really running this operation, the baby has started throwing her food on the floor during mealtime. This is no ordinary lack-of-motor-skill display, it’s a full-on, boundary-pushing battle of wills. On Sunday night, I’m feeding her dinner, when she looks me in the eye and slowly moves her pea-grasping hand over to the edge of her tray. The pea is dangling above the floor, and she drops it, never breaking eye contact with me. I laugh, because, you know, she’s a genius. After a few more peas bite it, my amusement turns to indignant motherliness. How dare she flaunt this behavior in my face! I’m telling her NO and she won’t listen! The nerve!

Every meal since that one has turned into a mini-battle. As soon as she starts dropping food to the floor, we feed it to her with a spoon or end the meal entirely, depending on how much she’s had to eat. The fact that I’m surprised by her willfullness is the real comedy in this scenario. Between her father and I, she’s got a quadruple dose of independent, authority-despising genes. The student has become the master in a matter of 13 months.

We don’t actually keep the baby in a cage, of course. It’s a joke we make around people who won’t report us to family services. What she has is a very cool playpen that you can expand by adding additional plastic panels. Before we moved into the rental house, she spent most of her days in this enclosed space, with me blathering over and over, “Hang in there, we’ll have you in a huge room in a few months/weeks/days.”

The rental house has a 400 square foot bonus room (the latest new construction bullshit craze, along with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops) above the garage. This open space serves as the office and play area. Instead of confining the baby to the 29 square foot playpen, we use the panels as a divider between her and the rest of the fun stuff she’s not supposed to touch: power cords, TV, phone, fan, etc. This arrangement was going swimmingly until a few days ago. She figured out that she can move the panel away from the wall, and ta da! She’s in the No Baby Zone. It was sort of cute in a “aren’t you a genius???” kind of way until yesterday. Just because a baby does something once doesn’t mean they’ll give you a repeat performance. Unfortunately, this is only true of things you WANT them to do, like saying “hello” or drinking out of sippy cup without throwing it on the floor 50 times per meal.

What happened yesterday? She pulled the panel away from the wall several times. She knows where the design flaw is, and there’s no turning back. Our next challenge is to somehow secure the panel against the wall or go back to the 29 square feet of torture. Option B is not going to fly; she’s a toddling master now.

Ideas and suggestions are welcome.

Have you ever heard parents say that it doesn’t bother them when their baby pukes, pees, or poops on them? “It’s my child’s, so it’s different than if it were anyone else.”

Let me disavow you of that disgusting notion right now. Last night, I was holding the baby while my husband was preparing her bath. She’s naked, naturally, and I’m just standing there, making faces at her in the mirror, when I suddenly feel something splatter all over my feet and the hem of my jeans. She peed. All over the floor. And it was gross. Earlier in the day, she picked her first booger (I know, AW!). I managed to get it away from her before she put it in her mouth (she’s still in the “everything in the mouth” phase.), and then I dropped it. We were in the car. So now there’s a loose baby booger on the back floorboard or seat.

Bottom line, I don’t care if I gave birth to this person. I don’t want her puking, peeing, or pooping on me. Or wiping her boogers on my clothes. It’s gross, no matter who does it.