You've Come a Long Way, Baby

I just had to make a quick journal entry about Ham's new dainty ways. (Side note: I will not say "girly" to describe dainty behavior after reading the definition of girly, which says, "Weak, timid, or effeminate. Used of men.") No...don't like that much.

So, Ham is dainty...yet unbelievably tough. People often look at me with surprised loathing when Ham sprawls out after tripping over something (usually her own feet...much like her momma) and I barely bat an eyelash. She's just too much rough and tumble for me to react to every little stumble or fall. I'm not mean, I just know her.

So, indication #1 that she is becoming more dainty: She is now into bows. She likes to carry them around and she won't take them out of her hair if we put them there. (A big IF, because I usually don't think to accessorize her, although I do think it's adorable.)

The true test of daintiness (def: Delicately beautiful or charming; squeamish), came this morning when I was not paying much attention to Ham. I knew she was looking out of the window waiting for the neighbor's cat to make his appearance, so I didn't think much of it when she started whining as if to complain. I thought, "OK, she sees something she wants, but can't get to it. Or Tux (the cat) hasn't shown up yet." (I usually ignore whining unless she says, "Momma" and then signs 'help.') The whining soon increased and became more of a whimper. Before I thought to look, she began a pitiful sob and I could tell she was in some sort of pain.

I walked over to her (I try not to react 'violently' to her possibly, already painful, circumstances) and asked, "What is it, baby?" She stood there with tears running down her face, clutching a ball in one hand, whimpering and sobbing as if frozen with fear. Since she was standing in between the kitchen table and the window, I thought, "Oh my gosh, she really hurt herself." I thought maybe she banged her head on the table or something. I even scanned her free hand, now frozen with shock against the window, to make sure she hadn't gotten it stuck somehow.

I looked around and it only took a second to find the source of her horror.... A light brown, inch-sized cockroach. Still living, although barely moving, twitching its disgusting, whiplike antennae toward my baby girl.

For some reason, I began to mimic her horror and took great offense to this parasite...Ok, technically, it's not a parasite. I rushed to her aid with a paper towel that just so happened, thankfully, to be on the kitchen table and crushed the intruder. Ham looked up at me with almost as much horror as the roach's appearance had etched across her face. I almost felt bad for the little bugger...hahaha...the roach...bug.

I went against my usual compassion for anything living and did not feel bad for killing the nasty pest, but instead, said to Ham, "It's OK Baby, Momma got it. It's gone. It went 'bye-bye.'" I took it and flushed it and when I came back, Ham was still frozen, wide-eyed. I think she was just as surprised at her reaction as I was.

I held out my arms and she gave me a big hug and then toddled off to her basket of toys. It was as if nothing ever happened.

Today's reaction to the roach was a far cry from the reaction I saw on her face about 8 months ago.... The one I remember was an expression of immense satisfaction, as two little roach legs were dangling out of her mouth.

She's come a long way.

No, no. I'm the worst mother ever!

You hear it from every mom at one point or another...
"I'm the worst mother in the world!"

We really do believe it...even if we are secretly hoping someone will say, "Oh gosh, no you're not! You're a ___________"(insert: Goddess, Saint, Powerhouse, Queen of Clean, Mrs. Wonderful, Mother Teresa of Mommyhood, My idol, A Dream Come True to any child, etc.) BTW, I like all of those, thank you.

However, all moms, dads, aunts, uncles, Grammies, etc. have moments when they do things that truly and accidentally endanger a child's life, realize they can't be everywhere at once when something dreadful happens, or do something really stupid.

I'm on the latter end today.

So, Ham has fallen off of our bed twice in a week and a half. The first time was pure stupidity. I needed Genius' help on something and went back to the bedroom to enlist him. Ham was in bed with him, playing, and what do we do? We BOTH leave the room to go figure out the all-important so-important-I-can't-even-remember-what-it-was thing and leave Ham on the bed. TOTALLY NOT THINKING!

Half way down the hall, we hear a thud and a whimper. Then a full-on cry. I raced back down the hallway....

(I make our hall sound like the one from The Shining.)

Really, it's only about like this:

ANYWAY! I hustled into our bedroom and couldn't see Ham anywhere. I then heard her whimper again and went around to my side of the bed...and almost laughed. There she was, in the midst of two pillows, laying in that awkward position where you are trying to sit up, but can't because whatever your sitting on is too soft...or face it, you've gained too much weight and can't get your fat patootie up.

I cried, "Oh baby!" Mistake. She began crying again and I felt horrible. I lifted her up and cuddled her. It took 10 seconds for her to get over it. At that moment, I was so glad I had thrown the pillows off the bed that morning. I'll bet $100 that she fell off trying to reach anything and everything on my nightstand.

My Genius husband's reaction? "Why did you leave her? I thought you knew she was on the bed!" Come on...of course I knew, but that doesn't mean my brain translates everything into readable code as fast as his computer processor! I was gracious enough not to remind him of the time he pinched Ham's arm in the highchair and gave her a nasty blood clot.

So, the other time she fell off the bed, I was right there. Not helping my case, you say?

She was near the edge of the bed on hubby's side and sat up with her back to the chasm that is our bedroom floor. She just disappeared off the side, with me grabbing at nothing but air. When I peered over the side (she wasn't crying yet) her legs were up against the side and...oh, here. I'll just sketch it out because I can't describe it.

She whimpered a little bit and then she was done.
I was SO glad that she didn't get hurt. (Our bed isn't that far off the ground.) Of course, I picked her up and cuddled her. She lasted 5 seconds and then she pushed me away and wanted to play again.

I hope it's pointless to say that we watch her a lot closer now. We do. I promise.


So, this is my argument of why I am the worst mommy ever, right? NOPE.

The reason I am the worst mommy is because last night, I grilled chicken, steamed veggies and made my absolutely yummy, creamiest mashed potatoes. I though Ham would enjoy a bite of this delicious, buttery (OK, margariney) goodness. I had sampled it several times. I had tested the surface of the serving I was about to give her too see if it was hot...it wasn't. However, when she bit into the piece of potato I didn't know was in there, it was piping hot. It was AWFUL! She wouldn't even drink the cold water I was trying to give her. I can't even write any more about it. That's how bad it was.

You know what Genius said this time? "That wasn't nearly as bad as when I pinched her arm with the highchair tray."

God love him.