And because I strive to not be a crazy helicopter parent (and because I also have an infant, and am lazy), Ryland gets some freedom.
This may have been a poor choice.
And then there was a long stretch of silence. It was so nice. I could hear occasional giggles or babbles from her room. She was obviously alive. What trouble could she get into in her room? She was probably just looking at books.
The silence continued. I made silly faces at Bobby. I savored a rare moment I could focus my attention solely on him.
The silence stretched even longer. In the back of my mind a little thought bubble appeared, quiet but insistent.
“You know better Liz,” it scolded. “Your child is never this quiet for this long without trying to destroy your house. Where are the matches? Do you smell smoke? Get it together woman. This is amateur hour.”
I ignored the voice. She’s fine. I’m being a cool and relaxed parent, allowing her freedom to foster independence.
The voice: “Did you leave a pen unattended again? She’s probably drawing another mural. Or what about your water jug you keep by the bed? She’s likely dumping it all over your wood furniture. Or what about the scissors you use to take out the diaper bags?? Did you make sure they were out of reach? She could be trying to groom the dog and murdering him in the process for all you know!
Me: This is an important development tool. I am encouraging her maturity and fine motor skills by not interfering with her play.
Voice: Do you not remember the time she found razor blades??? That was like a month ago….
Me: 22 months is plenty old enough to be totally unsupervised for extended periods of time. And she’s so advanced.
Voice: Get off your butt!!
Me: It’s fine, she’s fine. Chillax.
Voice: Razor blades. You idiot.
Me: But, but:..
But then I get closer.
Um, what is that all over her hair?
Is it soap?
Oh it’s on her hands too? Where did she get soap? She’s rubbing it everywhere and grinning.
I make it to her room. She is smiling in a cat ate the canary kind of way. still can’t figure out what the hell is covering my child head to toe. It’s glistening. It’s gleaming in the sun. Is that Criscoe? We don’t even have Criscoe? But it looks like…Like….
I see the empty jar of Aquaphor the same moment I realize what it is:
Apparently this stuff doesn’t come out of hair. Like maybe ever. Even with corn starch (I googled).
This is how it looks this morning.
Also anyone have any other ideas for how to make my child not look like Danny Zucko?
Or similar experiences you want to share to make me feel like a less irresponsible mother?
At least I learned once and for all that silence for a toddler is NEVER a good thing.