Remember all that about Riley, and how he was this real easy baby? Ha-ha-ha-ha. Yeah, forget about it. Because now, as weird as this is to say, he is SO HARD. I mean, that kid gets into EVERYTHING! I forgot that sensation of yearning for eyes in the back of my head just to keep him away from the danger and mess lurking behind every corner.
And the mess. My God, the mess. And to try and clean up a Riley mess while a Riley is within ear shot... "What? Is that the sound of the dishes and bowls I emptied from a drawer in the kitchen being put back? Not on my watch!" And then you here the fast tap-tap-tap-tap of his feet coming into the kitchen. His head leads his body and the drool flies as he toddles right on up to the drawer, wraps his pudgy fingers around the plate you just put in there, and then it's back on the floor with a satisfying WHACK!
There are plenty of other dangers that go with this whole, new walking thing he does. Currently, a scrambled-egg size bluish bruise lives on his forehead, a lovely reminder of the header he took at daycare last week into a little table. Every few minutes, when Riley is on the move, you hear a BONK or a THWACK, and you know that big ol' head of his has taken another beating.
It's, luckily, not all bad though. There is nothing better than putting a heavy baby down in a public place, and not having to worry about his hands and knees touching an icky surface. I know the convenience of this won't last, though, because it won't be long until he runs off once his feet touch the floor. For now, he just holds on to your pants leg and grunts to be picked back up.
With all this exciting walking and exploring to do, sleeping is apparently not a high priority for Riley anymore. Especially naps. I wouldn't even call what he's doing a cat nap it's so short. Their nap time is the only block of daylight free time we have, and we try to take advantage of it by doing chores or, more likely, I nap and Kevin watches TV, surfs the Internet, reads a magazine and plays a video game like the adept multi-tasker he is. But when Riley is up, none of this can happen. Every brightly-colored plastic toy he picks up gets thrown to the floor with a loud clatter and, if he sees you sitting still, that is merely an invitation to crawl over you.
There's no escaping, him either. Especially now that he can climb himself up on to the couch. I remember how hard it was to teach Holden the House Rules, likely "butts and knees only on the couch." How did we do that? It seems unfathomable that Riley will ever learn such things.
The funny thing is how
funny all of this is to Riley. Like, as I wrote the end of that last sentence, I had to tell him to get his drool-covered hand off the TV. I remember Holden always wanted to touch that big, shiny object and now, it draws Riley to it with its mysterious power. But as I tell him, "No," he turns and looks at me, sticks the antenna of the remote for Holden's remote control car in his mouth, gags and laughs. How funny, Riley.
And the mess. My God, the mess. And to try and clean up a Riley mess while a Riley is within ear shot... "What? Is that the sound of the dishes and bowls I emptied from a drawer in the kitchen being put back? Not on my watch!" And then you here the fast tap-tap-tap-tap of his feet coming into the kitchen. His head leads his body and the drool flies as he toddles right on up to the drawer, wraps his pudgy fingers around the plate you just put in there, and then it's back on the floor with a satisfying WHACK!
There are plenty of other dangers that go with this whole, new walking thing he does. Currently, a scrambled-egg size bluish bruise lives on his forehead, a lovely reminder of the header he took at daycare last week into a little table. Every few minutes, when Riley is on the move, you hear a BONK or a THWACK, and you know that big ol' head of his has taken another beating.
It's, luckily, not all bad though. There is nothing better than putting a heavy baby down in a public place, and not having to worry about his hands and knees touching an icky surface. I know the convenience of this won't last, though, because it won't be long until he runs off once his feet touch the floor. For now, he just holds on to your pants leg and grunts to be picked back up.
With all this exciting walking and exploring to do, sleeping is apparently not a high priority for Riley anymore. Especially naps. I wouldn't even call what he's doing a cat nap it's so short. Their nap time is the only block of daylight free time we have, and we try to take advantage of it by doing chores or, more likely, I nap and Kevin watches TV, surfs the Internet, reads a magazine and plays a video game like the adept multi-tasker he is. But when Riley is up, none of this can happen. Every brightly-colored plastic toy he picks up gets thrown to the floor with a loud clatter and, if he sees you sitting still, that is merely an invitation to crawl over you.
There's no escaping, him either. Especially now that he can climb himself up on to the couch. I remember how hard it was to teach Holden the House Rules, likely "butts and knees only on the couch." How did we do that? It seems unfathomable that Riley will ever learn such things.
The funny thing is how funny all of this is to Riley. Like, as I wrote the end of that last sentence, I had to tell him to get his drool-covered hand off the TV. I remember Holden always wanted to touch that big, shiny object and now, it draws Riley to it with its mysterious power. But as I tell him, "No," he turns and looks at me, sticks the antenna of the remote for Holden's remote control car in his mouth, gags and laughs. How funny, Riley.
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