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Broke Wife, Big City
You have to
crawl before you can raid and pillage
By Aprill Brandon
For only being 9-months-old, my son has a lot of interests. I mean, a
LOT of interests. All day long, he’s just interested in everything.
For example, here’s a list of things my son is interested in:
Pulling off his left sock.
Dropping heavy, loud things on the floor.
Shaking his head no. At everything.
Licking the couch.
Licking the dog.
Licking my cellphone.
Obviously eating the left sock he pulled off because I can’t find that
damn thing anywhere.
Biting my collarbone.
This mug full of super-hot coffee in my hands.
And here is a list of things my son is not interested in:
Learning how to crawl.
Yes, my son, while a master at the art of sitting, has absolutely no
interest in taking that skill to the next level. And it’s not just that
he’s not interested in learning how to crawl. It’s as though he
actively loathes even the mere thought of transporting his tiny body in
such a crude manner. I’m talking put that kid on his stomach and he
either:
Lies face down, arms and legs splayed straight out, while crying
pathetically. Or…
Turns round and round on his stomach like a clock (while crying
pathetically), just biding his time until I finally give up on the
whole charade, pick him up and let him get back to his very important
job of licking the couch.
Now, in general, this does not bother me. One, because I know all
babies start crawling in their own good time. I mean, sure, I have
irrational concerns my baby is not developing normally, just like
everyone else in America. But it’s fine. Because just like everyone
else in America, I assume I will be rich someday and as such can always
hire someone to carry him from class to class when he’s enrolled in
Harvard.
Two, his semi-immobility does make my job exceedingly easier. Which, as
an inherently lazy mom, I really appreciate. I know I can set that kid
down in the middle of the kitchen and leave the room and when I get
back he will still be in that exact same spot. Or spinning in a circle
crying pathetically, but still relatively in the same spot.
And three, I’m pretty sure he’s just biding his time until he can jump
straight to walking. Because just like a dog who doesn’t realize he’s a
dog but thinks he’s human (and yes, yes I am comparing my baby to a dog
again), my baby doesn’t realize he’s a baby and thinks he’s a
35-year-old Viking. A 35-year-old Viking that must yell his barbaric
yawp and savagely pillage the toy basket on a regular basis.
And Vikings don’t crawl, thank you very much.
What does bother me, however, is the constant stream of “Is he crawling
yet?” I get from other parents. There is a dark, dark underbelly to the
parenting world and it is composed of people who constantly want to
play the game “Let’s Compare Babies!” Which is less a game and more
just a way for them to tell you all the ways their baby is better than
your baby. It usually goes something like this:
Other Parent: “Is he crawling yet?”
Me: “No.”
Other Parent: “Oh. How old is he again?”
Me: “Almost 9-months.”
Other Parent: “Oooh. Nine months and not crawling yet. Hmm. Well,
Sabrina was crawling when she was 7-days-old. But the doctor said
that’s exceedingly rare. All babies crawl in their own time, you know.”
Me (to the waiter): “I need a cocktail.”
Other Parent: “It’s 9:30 in the morning.”
Me (to the waiter again): “Make it three.”
Yes, no one wins at “Let’s Compare Babies!” Because if you’re a parent
like me, you end up feeling like crap and spending the rest of the day
Googling “crawling specialists.”
And if you’re the Other Parent, you end up getting hit by a bus, like
in my fantasies.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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