Ike-a-saurus was busy today. In the 35 minutes after our nurse left for the afternoon, I lost him twice.
The first time, I made the mistake of going to the bathroom with the
door closed (I know, I know, but still. I fell for the temptation of privacy). When I came out (a mere minute or so later – I'm fast!) he
"Where's the baby?!" I shouted, running through the house. The front
door, of course, was wide open. The wee-er one, putting on her coat, helpfully
gestured outside. And there was Ike, sitting in the driveway, poised to
eat a random berry he'd found.
I snatched him up. "How did he get out here?" Innocent looks all around. "He just did," the wee-er one answered. Uh-huh.
So back inside we went. I sat him down on the floor in the kitchen while I contemplated what to
burn cook for dinner. I turned around and he was gone.
"WHERE IS THE BABY?" I yelled. More innocent looks from the older kids. I ran into the living room and I saw the tail end of a tiny diaper rounding the corner – upstairs – into my bedroom. So I hoofed it upstairs and dragged him back down to the kitchen. This time, I strapped him in his high chair and gave him some tomato paste to play with. (Side note: why doesn't tomato paste have fat?)
Fast forward to later in the evening. My husband was finally home after being trapped in traffic, the older kids were upstairs shouting things at him in unison and Ike-a-saurus and I were hanging out downstairs.
Ike bolted for the stairs, but this time I was with him. He stopped on the little landing and we played a quick game of "I see you on the stairs, get over here" which is like peek-a-boo, but involves slapping your hands onto the stairs and ducking your head and sometimes smashing your eye into the railing.
Tonight, the game was going along bruise-free when I noticed that Ike's foot was caught in one of the creeping tendrils of the plants we have on a ledge high over the stairs. I reached over to get the leaves off his foot when BAM. The pot – twice Ike's size – came crashing onto the stairs. There were pot shards everywhere. Wet soil was on the wall, the baseboards, the stairs – and covering the entire right side of Ike's body from his hair to inside of his diaper. That pot missed clonking him on the skull by about a millimeter.
If it's not one thing, it's another. Are we living a version of Baby Final Destination? Because if we are, THAT IS NOT COOL, UNIVERSE. NOT COOL.
Tomorrow I have no plans to pee or cook or go on the stairs. We'll see how it goes.