Boys Will Be Boys?

I am not a bad mother. I am not a bad mother. I am not a bad mother.

I will believe it eventually if I keep chanting, right?

LG is walking now. He still crawls when the mood strikes, he gets really tired, or if he decides that the urgency of a sippy cup is such that he could not possibly walk to the outstretched hand holding it quickly enough.

My adventure with a boy child has begun. He is notably more daring than Lula Belle.

Already he has scaled the stairs 962 times, the fireplace bookshelf 3 times, the kitchen table (and reaching for the chandelier to dangle from it) 7 times, climbed across my couch side tables and attempted the washing machine twice. All of this with absolutely no fear or comprehension of the danger he has put himself in. When I come running at him to save him from a fall that I am sure would result in a trip to the emergency room, he just opens his mouth wide and lets out a loud squeal of delight and sometimes begins bouncing wildly with amusement. This makes me run faster, and he in turn laughs hysterically.

This child is innately more curious than Lula Belle, too.

He is banned from all bathrooms because I grew tired of sterilizing him from head to toe after he had drenched himself with toilet water. He will get into any drawer that is left even slightly ajar and pull out all off its contents for close examination. He has been sternly corrected about getting into cupboards and removing everything in them only to giggle, tilt his head sideways and look up at me through the corners of his eyes to avoid further punishment ( it usually works, too).

"Well, this is normal", you say. "This is just an inquisitive little boy being a boy", you say. "You are not a bad mother", you say.

Do good mothers let their children dangle from a chandelier and eat Ajax with bleach all in the span of 5 minutes?

See. Told you I was a bad mother.

It all began very innocently. Next week is fall break, so instead of hanging around the house with nothing to so for a week I decided to take the kids on a couple road trips. I thought I'd go over to CJ's grandma's house and later in the week to his mom's. I had already contacted my mom-in-law, so I was e mailing CJ's grandma to see if we could come over. I wanted to compose a short email. During the time it took me (I'm an average typist)to write two lines, LG climbed up a chair, onto the table and decided the chandelier was indeed, a swing. I looked up from typing to see this and proceeded to bolt across the family room to the breakfast nook just in time to save him from a five foot drop onto the ceramic tile.

He laughed uncontrollably at my breathlessness and exasperation! How dare he?!

I gently placed him in front of his favorite Barney electronic gizmo(a just-kill-me now toy) and told him to play for just a minute and went back to my e mail.

I no sooner sat down to finish my thought and I heard something fall onto the tile floor. I knew he was probably into the cabinet but heck, he'd already pulled out that tin foil 14 times today; one more won't hurt, right? So I finished two more lines, pressed send and went to the kitchen to reorganize my baking needs...yet again.

EXCEPT it wasn't my baking drawer this time. The child had half the contents of my under sink cabinet out onto the floor and was wearing what appeared to be a powdered sugar go-tee.

"Do I keep powdered sugar under there", I frantically wondered? No, I most certainly don't.

In a rush of panic I scooped him up, stared at his face and did what every mother does when she doesn't know what is on her child's face/hands. I tasted it! Yep, tried it out and quickly concluded it was most definitely NOT powdered sugar. (Unless they have recently and without my knowledge, changed powdered sugar to taste like chalky bleach.)AJAX!!!!!!

So, I quickly called the poison control line and with all the coolness I could muster, admitted to the man who answered that I had allowed my 14 month old to ingest a lethal substance. The man gently inquired about how much, when and if there was vomiting or coughing. I answered all his questions honestly, all the while praying he wouldn't ask for my name. He did. Luckily he only wanted my first name. He told me to give the boy some milk and crackers an keep him upright for an hour, then call him back. I did all that he told me to do and LG is just fine, you'll be pleased to know.

I, however, will remain convinced that I am doomed to mommy purgatory for my poor baby's mishap unless God and all of you let me know that Boys will be boys.

I'll be waiting, but I promise to install a lock on the cabinet before the day is done and to watch the little stinker more carefully until I hear back.