Captian Underpants
October 6, 2005, 6:47 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

Save me now, but I have a toddler in my house. Seems logical since that is what happens when infants start walking about in the upright position. But I must admit that I am a bit taken aback at this turn of events. Devon didn’t bother to crawl until well into his 10th month so I grew way too comfortable with Immobile Devon. He started waddling towards the end of July and now only runs -everywhere. Whether he he has two or twenty feet of space, he runs. Evidence to this can be seen by the collection of road rash that has accumulated on his face.

He is also the stealthiest Relocator of Items I have ever met. His father has been known to put things in odd places, high up ones since he is 6’6″, but Devon fancies the garbage can. All of the tupperware, toilet paper rolls, dishwasher items etc end up there on a daily basis, and yesterday his softie blanket. But he took it one step further in his pursuit of redistribution. He found a paper lunch bag, put the softie inside it and then stuffed it in the trash right around breakfast time. We can’t go anywhere without the damn blanket and by lunch time I was tearing apart the house. (A mother in pursuit of her child’s security item is a scary, scary thing.) I looked in the trash about eight times, but only seeing the regular stuff I pawed through everything else in the house. We had to run a few errands and as I looked at him in his car seat he appeared naked and bereft without the softie. There are only 1,000 square feet in our home and upon our return I searched every single one of them,
finally trying the garbage again. I found the paper bag, squeezed it, determined its squshiness did not belong to fecal matter or a dead animal and opened it. Eureka, the effing softie. Devon’s face lit up and he started squeeling. It was covered in pickle juice but he didn’t seem to mind.

Devon’s second favorite toddler indulgense is the downstairs bathroom. Super fun stuff in there. Whether or not anybody is in there he is always angling to get himself inside. When he and I are alone I leave the door open because lord knows what he might do unobserved for the three minutes I am on the pot. As soon as he hears me sit down he comes running as fast as his stumpy little legs will take him. Upon finding me in the sitting position he starts giggling and stomping his feet, apparently the sight of me with my pants down is high entertainmnet. He always tries to make a grab for my pubic region, but that is where I draw the line. I figure that vague memory might not be healed by even the best of therapists.


1 Comment so far
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Oh my gosh, I need to meet this kid. I so want to see him with Granny Pat.

Comment by jen-o-rama

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