Friday, February 25, 2011

My Daughter the Dipper

Hey Readers,

     Good news..I found my earring. It's a fake, five dollar diamond, and I have no idea where the back is, but as I almost never buy jewelry, it's a relief to have a matching pair again. The bad news is where I found it. Like most tiny objects, having the terrible misfortune of residing in our home, it was discovered, hiding snugly, in a spitty, fat cheek. Smart enough to remember that my little girl hasn't kicked off her rap career and purchased a grill lately, my hand shot out and retrieved the shiny object from her pudgy face. I'm sighing as I write this, because this isn't the first time I've had to go mouth fishing. My daughter's developing a nasty dipping.

     Sweep as hard as I might, removing all edible objects from the floor is proving harder than the time I tried to wake board(not nearly as much arm flailing though). The parenting magazines tell you what to watch out for: pennies, nickels, marbles (ya know, if it were 1935), hard candy, nails, old prunes, etc. And I've been so watchful. My floors speaks neither of marbles nor prunes, and yet...she still finds things and inserts them into her jowls. Like a squirrel in winter, she hordes the coveted object, either intent on carrying it back to her nest, or with the idea of choking on it later. Unfortunately, the latter idea seems more likely.
     Monday alerted me to the issue. Tapping away at my keyboard, I looked down to see the little lady tugging on my knee, while simultaneously chewing on something I couldn't see. As I'd given her a cookie a few minutes prior, my simple brain assumed that she was still working on said cookie. It wasn't until her second pass at my knee, five minutes later, that I realized she was still chewing...on something. Crud.
     My "Bad parent" alarm blaring in my head, I grabbed my baby, stuck a finger in her mouth and began the "sweeping" motion they teach first aid trainees and clueless parents attending "You're having a baby and need to keep it alive" classes. Sweep I did, my finger triumphantly emerging with what looked like a dust bunny caught in a flood. So Gross.
     The last few days have produced similar situations. Dust bunnies, combined with stray carpet fibers, have become my daughter's "chew" of choice. Sure, I'm surprised with the occasional piece of weird rubbery substance that doesn't seem to belong to anything we own, but for the most part, it's a dust bunny/carpet fiber mix, fit for only the most hardcore baby dippers. I prayed to God for twelve boys. I said, "God, please send me all boys. For a baby girl will need to be taught the ways of a lady, kind, gentle and refined. We both know I'll drop the ball." He must know something I don't because I'm doing a bang-up job, so far. Lord, not only is the little girl You sent me, trying to choke on everything in sight, but, turns out, she's an excellent candidate for the Major Leagues.

Oh. Good.

Have a great weekend Readers!