Leaps and Bounds = Cuts and Bruises

At 15 months, Grayson has kicked his development into high gear. He's shifted into a toddler at warp speed. It seems that every day, he's got a new skill to show off, a new adorable trick to make us smile, a new way to get into things he couldn't get into before. Late last week, he somehow managed to climb up onto the ice chest that we have sitting on the patio.

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You would've thought he had climbed Mt. Everest by the proud look he gave to all his onlookers (me & Bentley). You can see how he strategically placed his "walkie talkie" and juice cup. He has also mastered the art of standing in his new Fisher Price chair and then jumping onto his bean bag

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(thank you Daddy for teaching him such skills). And then there was the other night where he climbed up onto the glider ottoman, unsupported, bobbling back and forth like a drunk surfer, where he then leapt into thin air and landed on the edge of his wheeled truck. Of course, he will never again repeat this Spidey-Man-leap because Mommy screamed a horrific "Nooooooooo!" as loud as humanly possible, thus scaring the pee right out of him!

I can't remember when he started the cute habit of suddenly, in the midst of active block thrashing, lying down on the floor and batting his eyelashes - everything seems like it's new, but also like he's been doing it forever. I'm chasing after him, mostly trying to keep him from throwing himself headfirst off of the porch onto the cement sidewalk, and, unless he's sleeping, I don't have a chance to pause. I'm tired, I can't collect my thoughts enough to make a coherent sentence or finish a conversation, and there's never enough caffeine. I don't get to finish hot drinks or take-out while he's awake and with me, but even after the countless lukewarm lattes, lemon pepper chicken, and cups of tea, I still keep ordering and making more.


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There are drawers he can yank open that he couldn't open before - drawers that sometimes pinch his fingers, but he still opens and shuts them. He's discovered the wonders of opening and closing the toilet lid and the flushing mechanism is the greatest thing man's invented to this date. He wiggles behind the desk to grab the computer cords and gets stuck. He bounces off the bean bag with such force that he throws himself up to a half stand. He climbs up stairs and then tries to roll down them. He's stained the carpet and the wall with his blueberry-mushing-than-flinging-skills, and shaken the baby latches on the "no-no cabinets" so hard, he's broken 4 out of 8. Baby proof my arse!

At a grandparent's house, he hoisted himself up on to a low shelf and proceeded to army crawl across it, a foot and a half off the floor. I hovered next to him to keep him from tumbling off the edge, as I do when he climbs stairs or tries to wiggle around on rail-less playground equipment.

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My life is now a whirlwind of hovering, and holding my breath as I watch him take yet another fall. He toddles across the soft grass to get to the pavement, where he then scrapes his bare knees against the rough sidewalk because he forgets to step up and then I just scoop him up and take him inside. He puts out his arms and throws himself toward me - or almost anyone - trusting that he'll grab on to us and he won't fall. Even when he bounces off - as he did off of our dog, Bentley, twisting to the ground and banging his head on the carpet, he just looks around trying to figure out a new way to master his next jump. He simply looks shocked, shakes his head, and then gets back up and throws himself at something else. He is such a trusting daredevil.


Just yesterday, he climbed up his "Mt Everest" again,

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and in the blink of an eye, was face down. On the ground. His arms were out in front of him and his little legs spread apart like he was being frisked. He had fallen......or jumped...who knows? What our neighbors do know is that this little, angelic boy who is always smiling and pointing at the birds, was now in the most horrific pain and his mommy hadn't been watching him.

I ran out on the porch and stopped in horror as I saw my little baby laying there, unable to move. I gently scooped him up and carried him inside to access the damage.

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His poor little forehead had been scraped as well as his nose and chin.
I felt lower than the dirt underneath his fingernails. No, lower.

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I took him inside and bandaged him up. He thought he looked funny when he saw his reflection in the mirror. There was that sweet little laugh that I long for each day. He was going to be fine. Just fine.

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I dragged the ice chest into the garage for safe keeping and when I returned, I was in utter disbelief! I saw through the open patio door, Grayson sitting Indian-style in the old, rickety rocking chair on the patio. Backwards.

At this point, I can't think of anything funny to describe the way my heart sunk into my flip flops. I walked slowly and quietly trying so hard not to startle him, thus making him fall back and crack his scull.

I gently placed my arms around him, picked him up, gave him the biggest hug and a million kisses, fastened him securely into his highchair, and drug the old, rickety rocking chair to the garage.

I know Grayson will get even more bumps and bruises as the years go on, but it's my job to keep him safe or at the very least, try.
I quickly snapped this picture after nap time today. He apparently hasn't learned that he's not the spidey-man/daredevil he thinks he is.

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I'll keep watching him and keep holding my breath.