Silence Isn’t Golden

Posted: October 30, 2013 in Art, Family, Health, Humor, Migraine, Photography, Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , ,
Image by ReloVertigo 2013

Image by ReloVertigo 2013

Never trust a toddler. They’re so disarming, with their poofy-diaper-booty waddling, and their baby talk. It’s all a cleverly conceived ruse to lull you into a state of complacency. Do not buy it.

Baby ReloVertigo, my 1 year-old grandson, is the Cutest Baby Ever, officially chosen by public opinion, everywhere we go. Shamelessly flirting with every female in sight, waving at and high-fiving every senior citizen we pass, he suckers all in his sphere of existence into believing that he is a golden cherub whose entire substance is comprised of cuddles, grins, naps, and occasionally greeting his adoring public. Au contraire, Friendly Reader. There is a dark side to the beautiful munchkin.

Anyone who cares for children knows that, contrary to the old adage, silence isn’t always golden. With toddlers, it’s an ominous warning of bad things in the next room, behind the couch, or even right next to you, if you aren’t paying attention. So, recently, when I suddenly realized that Baby was too quiet, I jumped and started calling his name. He had been on the floor right next to the couch I where I was seated, quietly playing. But not silently playing. I was afraid something was wrong, but figured it was probably just not right. There is a difference.

And here I need to interject an explanation. Because Baby was a very active crawler, we had to start keeping the cats’ food up high, or Baby would snack on it. The only place to put it was the dining room table. Don’t freak out. I put a mat under their food. We never actually use that table, so it was ok. And I’m a germophobe so, believe me, if there was any chance someone might eat off that table, I would sanitize it. Or, rather, eat off plates, on the table.

Back to the silence. I called for Baby with no answer. I came around the corner into the dining room, and found him. Sitting on top of the table, having a bit of a nosh. Of some top quality cat food. His hair should be nice and shiny now, and his teeth good and sharp. I could probably add those little treats to help with the hair balls. You can imagine my lack of humor at this sight. I got him down for his usual timeout. And that’s the thing. It’s “usual” because Baby ReloVertigo is very smart. He is a baby MacGyver. This kid figures out a way to do, or get, anything he wants.

And, sometimes, he manages to get something he didn’t know was an option. He likes to push the dining room chairs around. That’s how he gets up onto the table. And why I listen so closely to all he does. One day, I could hear Baby busily pushing chairs. I kept looking in on him, and he was just a harmless, busy little worker bee. Until I suddenly heard silence. I called him. We have this little inside thing we do. I call it “going Italian.” My apologies to all Italians, because honestly, it’s really more of the stereotypical Italian accent we use. I mean, he’s one year old. Do Italian one year olds even speak much Italian? I speak none at all (I’m not Italian). Anyway, I yell, “beBE!” And he responds, “naNA!” Or, out of the blue, he will yell for me, and I will answer. It’s our little way of touching base, even if we are right next to one another. But this time, when I yelled, he didn’t answer. He squealed. I ran. It’s only about two feet from my couch to my dining room, but I ran anyway. And I nearly passed out when I saw him. He was in the corner, on one of the pressed back chairs. He had tried to climb through the back of the chair. There are gaps in the chair back, but not as wide as he expected. His entire left side was through to the other side of the chair back. The weight of his body was pulling him down, so he was nearly doing the splits, with his right leg still on the front side of the chair back. But the scary part was his head. His head was far too big to get through that gap. Because of the design of the wooden chair, the back is wider at the top than it is at the bottom. And so is that gap. Much like a horse’s head in the crotch of a tree, if his head had kept sliding down in that gap, eventually, it would’ve gotten hung up. Let’s think on that for a second. Hung. Up. You can see why I freaked. Thank God I was listening closely, and got him out of there. He was fine, and as soon as I pulled him out and gave him a short talk about danger, he went about his business with a smile on his face.

Unfortunately for him, he no longer gets to play in the dining room. Danger, and all that. You’d be surprised, though, at how he tries to distract me with saccharine smiles and pointing off at some picture on the wall, as if he’s not even thinking about the other room anymore. And as soon as he thinks I’m engrossed in something else… Oh, no. Never trust a toddler.

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