It occurred to me today that maybe Oliver is what is considered in some circles to be a trouble maker. I was busy online when I watched him (out of the corner of my eye) crawl over to the gate and begin his long process of opening it. He was dancing while he did it, possibly because he just likes to dance, but more probably because forbidden objects bring him so much glee. He didn't think I was paying attention, so he had to go for it. As I spied on him from behind the bookcase, I caught a glimpse of a smile as the gate swung open. He dropped himself down from standing, and poised himself to crawl through the gate and into the forbidden wonderland that is our kitchen. But first.. FIRST he had to pause and have a good clap for himself. No matter that no one was watching, clapping was in order for that fantastic feat of baby genius. I thought it was so cute that I let him get all the way to the fridge before I went and picked him up. I set him on the carpet, and left him there thrashing and wailing, all his hopes and dreams shattered.
can be so cruel.
Later, I was making him a "sandwich" when my motherly
senses started tingling and I knew he was about to do something that
could possibly a.) crack open his skull or b.) electrocute him. I
decided i would play the shady mom role and watch from the shadows to
see what exactly he was going to do. He was eying up an empty bottle,
and the steely resolve in his eyes told me that he was going to do
something outrageous, dangerous, or outrageously dangerous to try to get
it. He circled the beanbag (our hip, younger version of a couch) for
the lowest corner, and tried to scramble up to the top. After several
failed attempts, he was squatting on the beanbag, surveying the lay of
the living room from his lofty perch, eyes still on the prize: the empty
bottle perched on top of our short book case.
That is when I captured this video**:
Then I put down my camera and helped him stand back up again, curious to see what he would attempt next. He was, after all, very determined.
He scooted to the edge, leaving the tiniest possible margin
between the tips of his toes and the shelves. In a lunging jump, he
swatted the bottle off of the shelf and marooned himself there. Legs
dangling, holding on only by his fat little arms, he was stuck.
(At this point I decided this was too interesting to interrupt,
so I stood behind him ready to catch him should he fall but not ready to
end this fun. Feel free to judge me and/or berate me because I weighed
my curiosity greater than his possible safety.)
I expected him to cry or panic, but he did neither. The look on
his face showed perhaps the slightest bit of consternation, but
you could plainly see he was 100% resolved to finish the task at hand.
What a trooper.
After maybe a minute of dangling, I worried his arms might fall
off so I nudged the bean bag back under his feet. He plopped back in
relief, and looked around to see where the bottle had fallen. One second
later, he dove off of the bean bag face first. Two seconds later, he
had his beloved bottle in his hands, expression of complete
unadulterated happiness on his face.
Cheeky thing, that boy. Good thing I have a steely
constitution and a strong heart to raise that boy.
**If you're reading this via email updates, you may have to open the
actual blog to view the video.