DANGER: Baby On The Move

Now that Owen can crawl, life is interesting.

By “interesting,” I mean “challenging.”

And by “challenging,” I mean “hell.” In the nicest way possible, of course.

He’s always either:
A.) Up my ass
or
B.) Quickly moving away from me, looking for trouble.

And this little terror finds trouble easily.

He zips around our house, plowing over anything in his way and tossing aside whatever’s in his path. These pictures best describe Owen on the move, wreaking havoc:

Baby Godzilla makes quite the mess. By the end of the day, our house is in disarray. The living room floor looks like a wasteland of toys. Landfills have less junk. Walking through our house is extremely hazardous, since it’s virtually impossible not to trip on Chuck the Dump Truck.

As Owen approaches toddlerhood, I’m finding that I don’t have much in common with my son.

He likes to make messes. I like everything in its place.

He likes to make noise. I like peace and quiet.

I like sleep. Owen does not.

One thing we have in common: we’re both indecisive. For example, when Owen’s on the floor, he climbs up my legs, begging to be held.

I give in and pick him up.

Then he wants back down, squirming to escape my arms.

I give in and let him go.

Immediately, he’s tugging on my pants, ready to be up in my arms again.

Then he wants back down. Then he wants back up. Down. Up. Down. Up.

Good lord child! Make up your mind. All this up and down action gets old really fast. Baby Godzilla isn’t exactly a light load.

With the ability to crawl and stand, Owen has developed some new obsessions. They are:

Electrical Outlets

Remote Controls

Smart Phones

Walter’s Water Dish

And pretty much anything else that a baby shouldn’t be touching.

Plugs and cords are apparently way more fascinating than poor Laugh and Learn Puppy. And Owen has made it clear that the toy cell phone and remote are NOT the same as the real thing.

I confess that the thought of using the dog crate to cage Baby Godzilla has crossed my mind.

Owen has a strange relationship with his car seat. He loves climbing all over it.

But if you try to actually put him IN it, suddenly the car seat becomes the last thing Owen wants to be near.

When I strap him in, he reacts as if I’m feeding him to hungry lions. While five seconds ago, he was laughing and playing with the buckle. It’s a total mindf**k.

It’s become clear to me that whoever came up with the phrase “no rest for the weary” was definitely the parent of a 9-month-old crawler.

Yes, life with Baby Godzilla is hell, but it’s also wonderful. I wouldn’t change anything about my little devil.

Except make him sleep a few more hours each night. And make his poop less stinky. And make him a less picky eater.

Okay, so I would mostly not change anything.

Happy Mother’s Day!