No Fault
The baby’s in the dog crate.
No, this isn’t some new form of space manipulation, it’s a sign of his dexterity.
He’s 10 months old. I’ve locked the door to the dog crate at least seven times today. He’s figured out how to lift, slide and pull the latch so that he can get in. And now, at the end of the day, I’m just watching him wallow around in the crate, becoming more and more covered in dog hair.
That’s how we roll, folks.
About two weeks ago we went in for his regular check up and discovered he’d crossed several of the major percentile lines in a weight plummet; the doctor recommended we get about six different blood tests done to see if we could identify what was going on. The tests ranged from a diagnosis that would be inconvenient to deadly.
The last few weeks have been a waiting game as we try at home to plump the boy up. Our brains realize he’s gotten three teeth in the last three weeks, and started crawling and pulling up. The kid’s burning calories like mad! In my gut I feel there’s nothing wrong with him… he laughs, his eyes are bright, his attitude is inquisitive. But… what if we’re wrong?
This is the battle we fight as parents, and maybe what I hate the most about the Information Age. Our gut instincts tell us something, but our ability to master search engines casts doubt on the certainty.
Want to potty train your kid? Here are 16 different methods. If you choose the wrong one you’ll have a kid pooping their pants at the high school pep rally after they’ve already earned their drivers license. It’s all your fault.
Want to sleep? Don’t take a chance at the cry it out method… and definitely don’t co-sleep… don’t you know that sleep patterns are linked to obesity and obesity is one of the greatest threats to health in the United States? It’ll be all your fault.
Want your children to excel academically? That’s awesome but don’t be surprised when they off themselves in response to the irrational pressure you place on them. Want to let them find themselves in freedom? Well, you’re the one who’s going to have to be visiting them behind a glass window in prison because you never set firm boundaries. It’ll be all your fault.
I’m sick of thinking everything’s my fault! Yet I fall into this pattern regularly. My husband has been a godsend, helping me realize things just happen sometimes, things that don’t require an assignment of fault.
Sheesh. All I can say is that right in the middle of my deep contemplation of fault and watching my son roll around to get a coating of dog hair a commercial for the new show Pretty Wicked Moms came on.
I think I’ve found something that will make my worst parenting moments look pretty benign. Thank you, Lord. With that I’m off to bed.