Pierce, the easiest and most mellow baby—little did I know that there was a dark side abrewin’! The little lover with his dark brooding eyes could melt the coldest heart when he smiles; just like sunshine coming out from behind a cloud and warms everything it touches. That’s our baby! Then we began to realize that our ray of sunshine has definite opinions about things like food and captivity. Solid food was a tough introduction. Then, real solid food, like dry cereal, was surely something we must have given him just for the sole purpose of choking him to death. He was not a baby that put things in his mouth, so the concept of self feeding took some time. Then once he got it, he wanted to try everything we were eating which made it tough because we love spicy food. It was hard to weigh the trade-off between his agitation at us not sharing or the possible theatrics that might arise from tasting something too spicy. Unfortunately, the baby that could be trusted to play by himself because he never put anything in his mouth now needed close supervision and confined play areas. I’ve found him with cat food in his mouth, paper, the felt circles used on furniture, etc. He does not take no for an answer, either. We even resorted to installing a gate between the kitchen and the rest of our house, and he knows when it’s open by sheer intuition. At thirteen months, he still crawled and cruised, but don’t underestimate him. He crawled faster than any four-legged creature in existence, and he’s exceptionally stealthy! So as he’d sneak inside the gate, we’d scoop him up and put him out which infuriated him to no end. He’d squawk and kick the whole way to the floor then plant himself and cry in frustration. This was also common practice when he tried to leave the house by either the front or back door (and still is). Graciously accepting his circumstances when defeated is not his strong suit. It’s a good thing he likes most things, or he’d need medication just to get through the day—thankfully , that’s just me at this point…
So our busy little boy is content and wonderful at entertaining himself, although he seems to prefer if we are in the room. He’s quite curious about everything and is sort of methodical in his study of some toys like trucks or things with buttons. He likes to take things out of containers and throw them over his shoulder, and sometimes even put them back; but rest assured that if I am cleaning up, it is his job to undo it as quickly as possible. He whines when a toy (or phone or remote) are taken from him, but recovers quickly as he has much practice with self soothing, since his big brother doesn’t share easily.
One evening all four of us are in the living room watching tv, web surfing, playing—you get the idea, and I see that Piece has the phone. I thought I had taken it from him, but who can remember. Anyway, he’s dialing away and next thing I hear is ringing since one of the buttons he dialed was “speaker” —thank god! I look at about thirty numbers and number signs and realize that we are probably about to contact somebody in Australia or some place on the other side of the planet, and quickly hung up. Something tells me to look at the first few numbers in the fancy sequence he typed. Of course it’s 911. And of course they call back, and of course an officer shows up at our house. If I hadn’t been in the other room changing Pierce’s diaper and aspirating his snotty nose (another thing he has strong opinions about) I would have explained that my one-year-old has been torturing me all day, and that I am so glad someone came to rescue me “here he is, take him away.” In hindsight, it’s probably just as well that Dad answered the door.
The little devil can be a little aggressive with his hands. I have tried to teach him to be gentle when he touches my face, but it usually downward spirals into clawing at me. It turns into a game. I’ve tried slapping his hand and swatting his bottom and he just laughs and laughs. So I tried pretending to cry. JACKPOT!!!! He started to laugh until he realized I was “crying” then his sweet little face crumpled and he cried, too. Then I got to console him with is a perfect formula of hugs and kisses. Grammy needs to try this one, as she has been slapped and laughed at twice by this little pistol when she tried to stop him from touching things in her house. Good thing he’s not fourteen—it wouldn’t be nearly so funny.