Our summer traveling plans have been in full swing this month and we've already taken you to the beach and up north to Pennsylvania. With all that time stuck in a car, we've been seeing a lot of this out of you:
All the traveling seems to be fine with you, especially since we discovered how much you love water. I told you I'd give you a cookie if you made super happy baby noises for the camera. That's my boy, bought off easily!
Each month, we try to take a photo of you, but I'm afraid you currently look like you went one round with Rocky Balboa. You have battle scars from all of your climbing monkey antics and thus, the inevitable crash landing that follows.
Yesterday, I came home from work and Miss Patty told me about an alarming goose egg on the side of your noggin. I wish someone had warned me about how horrible they look, so close to the brain and all. It was like your brain was pushing it's way out of your skull and into that perfect little bubble. You seemed unfazed by it though when I rubbed it with my finger. You are so strong like bull except when I won't give you the remote control and you melt into a screaming puddle of tears.
It's strange to me that you will grow up in a world where you can search any information you need quickly and efficiently. In my day, you had to call a radio station or if you were really serious, you had to consult what we called an "encyclopedia". Funny word right? In spelling bees of the future, that space kid will ask for it to be used in a sentence because he doesn't know what it is. We got our set "free" after buying a billion dollars worth of groceries back in the 80s.
I mention the computer searching because that's what I did to appease myself that you, in fact, were going to wake up from your nap. That was one big egg! But the article I read was obviously written with amped up overly cautious moms in mind because the first tip was not to panic. Followed by a quick #2 of "you do not need to page your doctor." That was all the further I needed to read. After all, humans came out of caves and survived, flourished even. It's so easy to forget how resilient the human head is when I see a protruding knot climbing its way out of your fuzzy hair.
We let you do your mostly supervised climbing around your play area, which includes the couch and dining room table. I don't know what the correct approach is on this, but I know that "no" doesn't stop you. Plus, it seems to me that "no" can become a lazy habit of parents too distracted to supervise their kid. I try to reserve my use of "no" to dangerous situations only. I figure, you're going to do whatever you want to do anyway and if you practice more with someone there, eventually you will get better at it. Don't get me wrong, if you insist on driving my car, the "practice makes perfect" philosophy ends there. We saw what happened last time we tried that.
All of this brings me to last night when I heard some papers shuffling behind your father and me as we sat on the couch. I turned my head to see you perched on top of the dining room table pushing newspapers over the edge. You had silently assembled a makeshift ladder out of your potty/step and a chair to ascend the table top. You beamed a prideful grin in our direction and threw another ad circular to its hardwood floor death below. I'm wondering if all those bananas you eat are turning you into part monkey.