Last night while taking a break from writing my ‘honey-do’ list, I had a conversation via cell phones with my daughter, Caila. In the background, our grandson Hudson was making happy, babbling noises while playing with something or other in their apartment. By apartment I mean, a Studio Apt., which then brings to mind a small space with no dividing walls apart from the bathroom. Hudson’s world, although ‘baby-proofed’ as much as it can be, consists of seeking items he knows his mother will object to being manhandled or otherwise destroyed.
Hudson had apparently climbed or scooted or clawed his way up to where he could reach the computer keyboard, and was on the cusp of certain destruction when his mother quickly said, ‘No, Hudson, no play.’ A small pause, then, ‘Hudson!’ and we could hear (even though my husband was across the room from me, he could hear) screams and cries of abject sorrow and scandalization. What words came out of my mouth? My mouth said, ‘Oh, the poor baby!!’ To which Caila said something like, ‘It’s poor baby until it becomes YOUR computer keyboard that is being mangled!’ with typical ironic humor.
The Poor Baby. This ‘poor’ baby will soon be living here in our small city, sharing space with us, and within reach of OUR COMPUTER KEYBOARD. I shall have to adjust my thinking. I do not want to squelch Hudson’s development, his divine creativity, his sweet desire to touch any and everything in the space that surrounds him. But – baby-proofing suddenly takes on new meaning.
So I take a walk around the rooms within our home, and find that NO SPACE is baby-proofed, and NO ITEM is safe. Much more important is the fact that Hudson himself will not be safe in any of those spaces, unless something serious is done. Hudson! Our sweet darling of a baby, whose smile and laughter makes our world go ’round…
My ‘honey-do’ list just got a whole lot longer.
