When I was cleaning out my closet several days ago, I pulled out a big, plastic tub filled with all my maternity clothes. Monkey (monkey-ing around like he does) decided that he would climb that plastic beast. And sure enough, he pulled himself up and stood on top of it, like a climber on Everest. I was proud of him and excited to see him in action, but somewhere, this did not bode well.
That same day, I was running behind and needed to get dinner started. Since I needed to get it done without fear of stepping (or tripping) on baby toes, I had to leave him in Monkeyland, alone – which isn’t a problem since it’s baby-proofed (no razor blades, bear traps, or loaded guns laying around).
After doing a quick scan of his play area, the only thing in there that was out of the ordinary was a huge box of diapers propped up next to the baby gate. I didn’t get a chance to put it away earlier, but I’d get to it later. So off I went, after directing M. Boy toward his toys.
I just started getting the food prepped when I first noticed how quiet it was. That was the first warning sign. Of course, being the bad mommy that I am, I ignored my raised hackles and thought, “Nah, don’t worry. He’s just really into his toys…” Just as quickly as that thought left my brain, I heard a big, fat SPLAT! Something hit the floor. My pits were starting to sweat. But, I thought, “No, don’t you go acting crazy, you know how he likes to throw all of his toys over the gate so you can pick it up. He wants you to go back there to pick up his toy!” Then I heard him start to whimper and cry.
My. Gut. Is. Wrenching.
I thought, “Woah, he is really mad! He really wants me to go over there! I guess I better see what’s up…” And who do you think comes walking around the corner, looking for his mean mommy, tears in his ever-loving eyes, but The Monkey himself!
I was so confused to see him, it took my dense brain a millisecond to connect the dots before Freak Attack 2.0 began. And crazy as I wanna be, I started crying, too, because:
1.) I didn’t listen to my instincts
2.) I couldn’t believe I didn’t listen to my instincts
3.) I broke my kid.
Thank God he was fine, but a bit spooked. What a way to learn about gravity.
Climbing Baby + Busy Mommy = Chickens. Running Around. Heads Cut Off.
Nominee for “Worst Mommy of the Year” much?