Anyone who pays any attention to me at all on Facebook is all too familiar with my "mediocre mother" posts so much so that several peeps have encouraged me to start a blog dedicated to just that topic. I have to admit, I was on a roll there for awhile, doing all sorts of mediocre things that could put a child in harms way just short of causing any harm. And so I started this blog. And then I waited..and waited..and waited..for an alarming, albeit entertaining, mediocre moment that would act as my blogs ribbon cutting ceremony. Well folks, the moment has arrived. THIS IS IT! This beats encouraging my daughter to run with scissors or feeding her tartar sauce that is 18 months expired. Oh yes. This is truly mediocre.
My son Z just turned nine months old. He's been self-feeding for about three of those months, if not more. And he's a pig. He grabs with both hands and he shovels and hoards and groans at the pleasure of emptying his trough. He gets bits and morsels of everything in his hair, on his brows, his elbows, his heels (seriously) and just about anywhere else food should not be. Change his diaper after a meal and you are sure to find food there too! Well this past weekend I was home at my Mom's house with both kids for a belated turkey meal. My sister was there with her two boys, which is WIN WIN since she helps out a great deal, as does her oldest son who is thirteen and up until said weekend, chose babysitting over girls. *sob* Anyway....
It's craziness at my Mom's with the kids because Z is into EVERYTHING these days. Miss M was never like that. You never had to rearrange the house because she never bothered it. You could put a jagged edged crystal bowl in front of her and she's scoff at it and scoot her way toward a sturdy, mustard Tupperware container from the 70s and try to chew the crap out of that. Not Z. Nope. He wants everything breakable and chewable. He wants those small end tables with the plants. He goes for outlets and cords and steps and stools and sharp corners and holes in floors and chairs that he can push or pull on top of himself. It's insane. He keeps me on my toes. Well.. I like to think I stay on my toes. But not so much.
I had Z in one of those highchairs that "clip on" to a dinner table (likely recalled twenty years ago) so I could prep his lunch as he scarfed it down. No kidding either, I cut and drop and he scoops and swallows. I can barely keep up. This time in particular something distracted me and I stepped away to go into the living room, just out of Z's sight. I don't typically do this, because of his age and the simple fact that he has no teeth so choking is quite likely if something isn't cut up small enough or mashed soft enough. So I'm digging through a duffel bag-I believe looking for a bib, or maybe some Gerber weenies to feed him-and out of the corner of my eye I see this FLASH of a person bolt up and dart into the kitchen where Z is eating. It took about a half second to realize it was my sister springing to the aide of Z who at this instant I believe must be choking something serious because that, my friends, was some fast movement that I have NEVER witnessed anyone perform. I truly thought I was going to be calling 911.
As mediocrity would have it, turns out I left a slick steak knife within Z's reach and he grabbed it, first with one hand on the handle and then the other on the blade. This is when my sister realized what he had and adrenaline rushed in to save the day. And thankfully so. She slowly peeled his hands away from the blade without causing any injury to his delicate skin. That was close. Too close. The way babies jerk and jolt things around in with their horribly evolving motor skills, it's a miracle he didn't immediately stick himself in the eye or mouth. Daddy would not have been happy if his son could not hunt because he couldn't see the deer. Or worse, not be able to play guitar cause he had to fingers!
Lesson shared. Lesson learned.
