Lube Head

10 05 2007

When I first started writing on a blog, Ethan was an infant, and the majority of my posts were all about my clueless, new-parent mistakes (like the socks on the hands… or the time(s) I let go of the stroller… or that time I forgot I tied his pacifier to my sweatshirt and then tried to lay his sleeping, pacifier-sucking little body down in his crib, only to find out that I was attached to him… the list goes on).

But now that I’m a veteran, an experienced, wise parent… an expert, you might even say, I rarely have any funny stories of dumb things I do concerning Ethan. Today, though, you are in luck! That’s because I’m not a veteran. I have some experience, yes, but wise wouldn’t describe me, and by no stretch of the imagination could anyone call me an expert.

We switched Ethan to his “toddler bed” (crib minus one side) a month ago, and I’ve talked a lot about our struggles with adjusting to the transition. It’s gotten a lot better, though, and we’ve got a system down. However, a new problem has arisen: Ethan has figured out that he can get out of bed. Whenever he wants to. He can climb down, play with his toys, have parties, go wild. Whatever he wants. And he does.

Yesterday was a particularly trying day. I put him down and left the room, and had to go back in a few minutes later because he wasn’t in his bed anymore, he was sitting in his rocking chair, rocking back and forth, really hard. It was like a ride, and he was loving it. Until mom came in and ruined the fun, that is. Back to bed he went.

A few minutes later, I returned when over the monitor I heard the music of one of his toys blaring, and found him across the room, casually putting balls into a dinosaur, watching them drop, and dancing to the tunes. Back to bed he went, again.

A bit more time passed before I had to go back again, falsely getting my hopes up that he’d actually gone to sleep. I hadn’t heard anything for a little bit, so I sneaked up to his door to peak in at him. Only before I got there, I noticed light. Coming from his darkened-for-naptime bedroom. I stopped before I got to his door, scratching my head, and wondering, had I left the light on? I do some stupid things, yes. I am famous for leaving the water in the sink running, much to Jeff’s annoyance. But leave the light on in Ethan’s room when he’s been put down for a nap? I couldn’t, could I?

While I stood in the hallway questioning my sanity, Ethan began to cry. Not his whiny, I’d-rather-be-outside-playing cry. A real cry. I could hear the fear in his voice. So I burst into the room, and found him, stuck in between the rocking chair and the couch, atop a pile of books he’d pulled off the bookshelf. He had climbed onto the couch and switched on the lamp (which I didn’t know he knew how to do), the better to see all the 30 books he planned to yank down and throw in a pile. When he was done removing all the books, he’d tried to squeeze out of the corner by pushing past the rocking chair, and that’s when he’d gotten stuck there.

Sigh. I put him back to bed, this time lecturing him once I’d laid him down, telling him that he had to stay in bed, to get out would be a no-no, and he needed to obey mama and stay in this bed. Don’t get out. Stay.

15 minutes later, I was back. I’d been able to hear him over the monitor, occasionally talking a little bit to himself and Baby Football, probably complaining about his awful mother again. But I hadn’t heard music or any other toys. In fact, there’d been a lot of silence. So I didn’t go in and bother him. But then he started crying again, that same fearful, I’m-actually-upset-for-REAL cry. And when I went into his room, the first thing I saw was the blue cap to something on the floor next to his bed. The second thing I saw was the uncapped tub of Vaseline, lying on its side in his bed. The same tub that is normally on the top shelf of the bookshelf, on the side farthest from the couch, where he can’t reach even if he’s standing on said couch, even if he stretches his arm out really really far.

The third thing I saw was Ethan’s head, covered in gobs and gobs of shiny Vaseline. On top of his head, on his cheeks, on his nose, on his chin. Amazingly, he didn’t get it anywhere but his head, not on the sheets, not on Spiderman or Football. Just all. over. his. head.

Oh, and on his left index finger, which he used to gouge a deep hole into the tub of Vaseline. He didn’t get it in his eyes, or in his mouth (that I know of). So… no harm done. He started to cry a lot harder when I saw what he’d done and started laughing so hard, it was difficult to stop.The Vaseline is kept in the bathroom now, which is probably where I should have kept it in the first place.

I only wish that I’d been able to watch as he applied his makeup; did he smear it methodically or spontaneously? Consult Baby Football for an opinion on his new look? I’ll never know.

Almost entirely unrelated: I’m thinking about investing in a Bedazzler; I can’t believe I’ve made it this far in my life without owning a jar of Vaseline that looks like this:




One response

11 05 2007

There are tears running down my cheeks right now! Ohh, what a sight that must have been!

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