Just a few short days ago, Brad and I were huddled on the floor, enthusiastically encouraging while simultaneously luring Avery to crawl towards us for such treats as Gerber Puffs and Multigrain Cheerios, as well as iPhones and other expensive paraphernalia that she is otherwise not allowed to chew.
What a couple of idiots we were.
Here we are, four days later, sprawled on each end of our entirely too comfortable sectional, exhausted and near tears with joy that Avery has finally gone to bed. WTF were we thinking, teaching her to crawl like that?
Back when I could sit Avery on the bathroom floor with a couple of toys while I showered, back when life was beautiful and we would spend hours a day staring intently into each other's eyes while doing some hardcore mother/daughter bonding, I used to dream about the glorious day when Avery would happily crawl towards me, calling out "mama" and squealing with joy as I plucked her pudgy little body from the hardwood into my arms for a spinning hug accompanied by inspirational music and fans blowing my hair around sexily.
Reality is a harsh, cruel bitchslap directly to the face.
Avery crawling was fun for about a total of five seconds. There was cheering, videos, phone calls and facebook statuses. There was copious amounts of praise, excitement, and overwhelming love, however this all quickly dissolved into frantic grabbing of things from her hands, as well as various orifices, much yelling of "Avery, NO! NO! DON'T TOUCH!", extreme exhaustion, and there was even some gnashing of teeth at some points, if my memory serves me correctly.
Brad's meticulous Blu-Ray collection that is organized by genre as well as his record collection which is alphabetized as well as organized by release date (can I also take this opportunity to state that this man has major OCD over his movies, music, and books, yet we have lived in our house for over two years and he has made our bed a total of twice - divorce is imminent) has gone to shit. The laundry that it takes me about four weeks to get from closet, to washer, to dryer, to dryer again a few days later, to dewrinkle because it's still in the dryer after a week, to basket, to folding, to drawers, will now be taking me a total of ten weeks (Not that I care. The theme of Avery's nursery is 'Laundry' anyway... as is the theme of my own bedroom... and house in general since I gave birth).
Another thing that I have learned the reality of since "Bavrey Avery", as my 2 year old nephew calls her, has become mobile, is that babies who learn to crawl also develop X-ray vision at about the same time. That child manages to find and ingest things that even the most fastidious cleaner would never see. I have saved her from certain death by choking no less than three times since she started to motor around my house, not to mention the things I've found in her poop. I won't get into too many details, but apparently she's not above snacking on bookmark tassels... even if they're turquoise. I don't know when she finds time to ingest such things, but she does, and I can only hope that her digestive system is all the better for it.
My bathroom garbage containers have been relocated to the backs of the toilets, the beautiful pillar candles that were on the base of my fireplace have been removed for their own safety, and my poor, sweet, playful puppy has retreated to underneath the kitchen table where Avery is not able to crawl over and pick at him. He learned the hard way that he is no longer safe in his kennel when she boldly began to make her way in the other night during supper, before Brad scooped her up and trapped her in her highchair. This child is like a tiny horror on hands and knees.
I will say that I had been warned not to encourage mobility by several of my mom friends. I did not take heed, however, and walked straight into that valley of death fearing no evil.
Let me tell you, moms of immobile children... fear the evil. Fear it with every cell in your body. Fear it for your neatly lined up movie and music collection, fear it for your laundry, fear it for your dog and his kennel, toys and water dish, and fear it for your sanity and ability to handle emergency situations that include children choking on the plastic things that held the tag on new clothes.
Enjoy and relish in the ability to sit your precious little bundle down with a few toys while you leisurely sip your coffee and collect your thoughts for the day, as I was able to do a few short days ago. Enjoy the ability to go to a beautiful suite for the night so that you and your husband can have hot sex in several different locations, instead of using the time to wash yourself alone, in the 2 person massaging jet shower without simultaneously playing peek-a-boo, and then to sit still for a while before going to bed at 11 so that you can actually get a full night's sleep (true story... well, there was some romance but my mom reads this, so ya know). Enjoy having pretty decorative pieces on the floor in your home that are not yet in danger of being broken and their pieces being chewed up by eight little teeth and later found in an explosive poo.
I will say that watching that little bum crawl around is probably the sweetest thing I've seen to date, and seeing my little girl's determination when she wants something is hilarious, and finally, it's a bittersweet moment to see your baby get their first taste of independence, but when she crawls towards me it's nothing short of amazing... until she says "dad-dad", which is a bad habit that she picked up along with crawling, and then it all goes down the shitter again.
Nothing in this section of her growth is going as I had planned...