Terrible Two Haiku

Okay, so I know I'm in for it now. All those things I did to give my own mom grief when I was a toddler? Coming back in spades. Judah is almost two. The kid just doesn't stop. I was telling my mother-in-law the other day that even when I had two toddlers in the house every day (back when Jericho was a toddler, I babysat his cousin Kody full-time during the week), with a pool in our backyard, I didn't worry like I do with Judah by himself! With those two, I could at least busy them with something for a while and actually have some down-time. Plus, they enjoyed watching videos.

Judah likes destroying videos by throwing them on the hard floor or pulling out the tape. With Judah, even when he's sitting down, he's fidgeting. Gearing up to go again. Planning and plotting his next move. And he moves so fast, hard as I try, I can't always keep up with where he is. And if it gets quiet? Oh, boy...then I know there will be a big mess.

Like yesterday, when I was emptying the silverware tray from the dishwasher and heard the silence grow loud. Any mother of a toddler knows exactly what I mean. I found him in our hallway. Without his diaper on. And there was a reason he had taken it off. Which required not only a good soaking in the bath for him, but a good steam cleaning of the entire hallway carpet and a good part of his bedroom floor.

Oh, those terrible, terrible twos! Here was my first Haiku of the day:

Oh little one of
innocent face, must I baby
proof the whole house?

I've got cupboard doors secured with these loopy things that zip shut like cable ties (which almost need an instruction manual to open up again), and those plastic doorknob covers on nearly all my doors (which is really fun when you've got a load of laundry needing to go into the laundry room). I actually invested in a bunch of these while visiting my mom in Washington earlier this summer. It was necessary if I was to get any sleep at all without worrying about Judah escaping his pack-and-play while everyone was sleeping, and wandering through her non-childproofed home by the light of the moon (the dark doesn't deter him, either). With slippery hardwood floors. With two flights of steep stairs. Inviting antique crystal doorknobs at lower than usual height. Glass coffee table on which to slam down his toys. Electronic gadgets galore with fun buttons to push. And did I mention the steps?

With this kid, we have to have first, second and third lines of defense in place. Which is why I shriek like a fishwife about keeping the lid to the toilet shut behind the closed door with the doorknob cover on it. It's a safety precaution. Then there are the baby gates that are semi-permanent installations around our house. The one in the kitchen doorway is almost too high for Jeff and I to step over, but is what allows me restful sleep at night. After checking the door locks, I always check to be certain this thing is in place, because in spite of trying everything I can to deter him from ever getting the idea in the first place, Judah is getting to where he's about ready to climb out of his crib, and the thought of him getting out for an unattended midnight expedition terrifies me. Especially since he knows how to open the fridge. And loves getting into my craft supply storage units and gleefully stamping all my colored ink pads and spilling my colorful embossing powders all over the floor.

Jericho's bedroom also has a permanent baby gate in the doorway, because it's just easier to keep Judah out, than to keep after Jericho to keep all the millions of legos up off his floor. The way Judah puts things into his mouth, it just gives me some peace of mind knowing that at least I won't have to have to worry about an ER trip for x-rays to determine how many legos to watch for.

Who knew a home could be so dangerous to a baby? And that moms could lose so much sleep worrying about such things? I used to worry about things like inflation and terrorism. Now I worry about my toddler getting stuck in the fridge, eating things that are inedible or falling headfirst into the toilet.

We recently had to rearrange our entire living area, putting our dining room table in the kitchen to keep him from pushing the chairs to the counters and circumventing the baby gate again.

Yes, again. He did this a couple of times before we were finally forced to do something drastic about it. Once popping up like a Jack-in-the-box from my kitchen sink, and the other time, climbing up onto our highest counter top, perching precariously at the cliff's edge while double-fisting the brownies he found in the cookie Jar up there into his mouth. That was one of those slow-mo mother's dashes to the counter to grab him before he fell off. Somehow I managed to get there in time. Personally, I think the Lord equipped moms with extra adrenaline which he triggers at moments like that, which has the same effect that anger has on the Incredible Hulk...the ability to break off the concrete that feels like it encases your feet at moments like those. And all that happened in the time it took me to switch the clothes from the washer to the dryer.

Jericho just called to me as I'm typing, "Mom? Make him stop! He's messing up my bedroom!" I turned around to see how such a thing could be possible with the baby gate in his doorway. Judah was hefting toys over the baby gate then running for his toybox for more! Again, like Dash from The Incredibles. And by the time I caught on, there was already a growing pile on Jericho's floor.

Dashing to grab toys
to throw in brother's room won't
entice him to play

It couldn't have been the one solitary bite of my Fluffernutter sandwich Judah wheedled out of me at breakfast, now, could it? That stuff is like Popeye's spinach to Judah. If only it were the same for me!

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I've got a wedding cake to bake for a friend's reception this coming weekend. I've had a couple of false starts trying to get the baking part done. I turn on the oven, get everything out to get started, and realize I don't have enough eggs on hand for the entire project. Or that the house still smells like dinner. I don't want the guests biting into the white cake with strawberry filling and saying, "Hmmm...interesting flavor...strawberry with a hint of ground beef and onion."

So I'm going to have to break down and bake in the heat of the day, to have them in the freezer before cooking dinner tonight. Either that or go out to dinner (which is an even better idea). I've got the Air Conditioner on a lower temperature setting than usual, and a fan on the counter which I will aim at myself while baking. It's supposed to get up to 105 degrees today. But it's either that, or stay up way late tonight to do the baking when it's cooler, which won't work, because I've got a court appearance tomorrow for my speeding ticket.

Yes, the one I got when I was not even two hours from home on a long road trip headed for my sister's wedding in a rental minivan earlier this summer. I was dictating directions to Jericho (via the rear view mirror) as to what to get his little brother from the cooler to stop his wailing in the car seat. When I flipped down the mirror, I saw the flashing lights. And the officer had apparently been there a while. Was it too much to ask that my toddler still be crying when the man came to my window? To elicit pity, so that he might issue me a warning instead of a ticket? But nooooo...he was so fascinated by the whole ordeal that he immediately stopped, and stared, and when the policeman finally handed me my ticket and left the window, Judah even called out, "Buh-bye!" and waved.

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At a Missions fundraiser dinner at church Sunday evening, Judah was playing catch with his little buddies, the McKoy twins, when he took a header into the concrete and scored his first busted up lip. Throughout the dinner, it swelled up and was red enough that Sunday night that I didn't sleep much, worrying it had somehow gotten infected. Because I was helping with the dinner, I didn't find out until an hour or two after the fact, and so wasn't able to clean the wound to my satisfaction at the onset.

Jeff was hospitalized a few summers ago for a horrible infection resulting from a cut on his forehead at work that became infected and really red, and crept towards the ominous 'Triangle of Death' (the triangle formed by your eyes and nose) . The ER doctor told us back then that if we'd waited, even a couple of hours to get him in, he might have died, as the infection could have gone straight to his brain.

Well, call me neurotic, but if I see any redness around a cut or wound, especially on the kids, I freak. Judah's was so near that triangle of death, that the poor kid got swabbed with peroxide, and antibiotic ointment when we got home that night, and a couple of times since. He's also been pumped full of echinacea and vitamin C. Thank the Lord, however, he seems to be just fine.

He's smiling and chipper about it now, and (if you have a weak stomach you may wish to skip the next couple of sentences), but a scab took forever to fully form. He kept compulsively licking the wound. Which prompted another Haiku.

Please do not lick sore
so conveniently near tongue,
scab must form to heal.

Which necessitated not letting him sleep with his Binky last night, so it would have a chance to scab over once and for all. The picture above is the result. As my friend Chrissy would say sincerely (while laughing), "That is so sa-ha-ha-ha-had!"

My husband, of course, is all proud of Judah's battle scar, thinking it makes him look tough. According to him, this is all par for the course for boys.

Do not worry, mom,
wounds and scabs will turn to scars
son will brag about.

Boys are apparently supposed to get wounded so they can have cool scabs and scars to brag about with their friends when they are older. Silly me. Next time I think I may let Jeff stay up all night checking to be sure there is no life-threatening infection.

And I think I need a nap today to make up for all that lost sleep. That is, if I can manage it before I get my baking started.