That’s my new nickname for Charlotte.
I love this kid so much it’s ridiculous, but lately… oh my dog, she is just a holy terror. It’s exhausting trying to keep her safe.
I understand that she’s discovering her world and learning about cause and effect and boundaries. It’s just—well, it would be nice if we could do it with a bit less bloodshed.
For starters, she absolutely refuses to sit down in the bath tub. We thought maybe it was just that she wasn’t comfortable in her ducky tub anymore, so we “graduated her” to the big tub. We got the spout cover and an extra long tub mat and figured we’d be good to go. Except she still wouldn’t sit still and now she’s smacked her forehead twice on the edge of the tub when her legs go out from under her. (Not because she slips—just because her balance isn’t great and she falls.) The sound of my baby girl’s head hitting the side of the porcelain tub is a sound I could really do without. Now we’re looking at spending $36 on a cushion thing for the side of the tub. (I’ve even tried getting in the tub WITH her, but it doesn’t help. She just wants to stand. She’s freaking impossible to contain.)
We have a bunch of little square coffee tables from Ikea in the house. When Charlotte first started pulling herself up, we added corner protectors to all of them and called it a day. Then on Sunday about 10 minutes before we were going to leave the house for my cousin’s birthday brunch, Charlotte had pulled herself up on one of the tables and let go, subsequently falling and hitting her head once on the edge of the table, and then two more times on the table leg as she fell. The result was a small gash in the crease of her eyelid (HOW?!!!) and two lumps on her head. It looked like she was crying blood. I was terrified.
Of course, that was nothing compared to this morning. Catch leaves for work before I do, so I’m left to get ready for work by myself while simultaneously trying to keep the Tasmanian Devil from injuring herself. I usually let her crawl around on our bedroom floor, which is great except that she can now climb the three steps we have in our room, so it goes something like: zip pants halfway, grab child off steps, find one shoe, grab child off steps, button one button, grab child off steps… repeat. I was so busy worrying about keeping her off of the damned steps this morning that I let my guard down when she was playing over by the metal rack we use to hang wet clothes on. The next thing I know, she’s crying. I pick her up to comfort her and realize we’re both covered in blood. Blood on her forehead. Blood on her ear. Blood on my hands and shirt. I was freaking the fuck out as I wiped at the blood on her trying to figure out where it was coming from. Turns out, she cut two of her fingers pretty badly. There was a sharp edge on the metal rack that I wasn’t aware of.
The nanny was about ten minutes away and I was sitting there in my underwear covered in blood trying to keep Charlotte’s arm elevated and keep pressure on the cuts while also getting a good enough look at it to figure out whether we needed to go for stitches or not. I’m sure you can imagine how easy it was to try to keep an unhappy almost-ten-month-old baby still in my lap while I held her hand.
Eventually, I knew I had to get pants on, so I set her down for a second and grabbed my pajama pants that are too big for me. That detail will be important in a minute.
The nanny arrives with my dad (he drives her in the morning) and we all tend to Charlotte’s wound. The bleeding was slowing down (thank dog) so I handed her to my dad so I could go find bandages. As I stood up from the couch, my pants fell down. Right in front of my dad and the nanny.
People, I am exhausted.
Later, I’m on the phone with my wife telling her that we have GOT to do something so that we can safely corral this kid because I am sick of the injuries. (I’m thinking play pen-type thing like this.) She yells at me and tells me we have to stop spending money on things that Charlotte can use for ten minutes. I tell her that I need somewhere safe to leave Charlotte so I can do things like go to the bathroom and bring in the groceries. She tells me to take Charlotte into the bathroom with me and that I just shouldn’t go grocery shopping when I’m alone.
Real helpful. Thanks.
The nanny reminded me today that 100% of adults survived childhood. Yes, that’s true, but we’re not considering the ones who DIDN’T MAKE IT TO ADULTHOOD. 100% of children who did not make it to adulthood did not survive childhood. How’s that for a statistic.
Do they make giant hamster balls for babies?