Just like those animals who know when the weather is changing, I have a prickling in my thumbs. It think the rest is about "something wicked this way comes," but the Shakespeare was one of the first casualties of Mommy brain, so I can't be certain.
It's the prickling of a mom whose baby is about to be mobile.
I've been in denial long enough. I've told myself, as my baby rolled over constantly, that she was just going back and forth and playing around. I've told myself that she was just bunching up the blanket, not actually moving off it. I've lied to myself that until she started using her arms we were fine--she would never get anywhere effectively with her face mashed into the carpet like that. I've said she was just practicing and she needed to exercise because crawling is a hard skill to master, so most babies probably start trying around three months. This isn't too early, no reason to stress. She won't be causing me real trouble for months.
I have to admit to the lies since today alone, my child rolled herself over the distance of two blankets and into the vertical blinds, rolled to the TV stand and kicked a bunch of DVDs to the back of the shelf, and later backed under my craft table like she was pulling into a parking spot. The vertical blind thing was fun, I caught her trying to lick the sliding glass door; her toes dirty from the window track no one ever cleans that is always full of dead bugs. A minute before I was washing dishes while she played in front of the TV, I look down to inspect a pan and she's found a bug buffet. That's just super. Apparently, you can really move effectively with your face in the carpet like that. Who would have thought?
Forget months, if I have a few weeks before she is full-blown crawling everywhere I'll be counting my blessings. Even if she doesn't crawl that fast, her rolling is more effective than most tweens walking is. It's also less bitter and slumpy. It is clear to me now that the plastic electrical outlet covers that have been in place since my 6th month of pregnancy represent woefully insufficient babyproofing. I am entering panic-mode and my mind is racing to keep up with my whirling dervish on the floor. Here's a sample of the train wreck I have become.
Sure, I can keep her out of harm's way and make sure she doesn't eat bugs, but only if I never do anything else again. Ever. For crying out loud, why are all the plugs so close to the floor!? Does anyone actually put electronics on the floor? No, they have to have long death-cords to reach from the stupidly placed plugs to the actual location of the needed device. That makes a ton of sense. Either the electricity people hate babies, or hate parents. It's a conspiracy. Don't even get me started on exterminators spraying poison in all the tastiest edges of the house. If you don't hire them, the poisonous bugs will attack as your cherub rolls around, so I think they're in league together. That's the only answer I have. Either way, poison is lurking.
The TV needs to be anchored to the wall, and where can I get a vacuum attachment that is actually somewhat effective? Where did this feather come from? Can a baby get bird flu from an escaped pillow feather? Can people get bird flu at all? I've vowed to teach rather than insulate 100%, so which of my beloved objects can be broken during the learning process? Do I have to get one of those really stupid-looking duck spout covers for the tub? Her infant tub doesn't even reach the spout end of the bathtub, and I do want to maintain some semblance of normalcy here. How many baby gates is too many? Toilet locks? Too soon? She can't stand up on stuff yet, and what if I have to go in a hurry? I had food poisoning just last week, the last thing I would have wanted to do was enter a password before throwing up.
You get the point, and I'm learning. I just had hoped she wouldn't be getting around so well, quite so soon. I fear for my stuff, but mostly, I fear for my sanity.
Plus we have a shiny garbage can. If other children have taught me anything about it, it's beyond delicious. Garbage cans that scream out to be licked--what kind of parents are we!?