Tuesday, September 16, 2014

One Step At A Time

The girls were, maybe one and a half.  
They had recently taken over the entire house and were in to EVERYTHING.  Not coincidentally, it's just about the time that I started to develop gray hairs.  

I was in the kitchen.  They were in the playroom.  
I heard hustle and bustle of two one-year-olds. And then I heard silence. 

I walked in to the playroom, not knowing what I'd find.  

What I found was M, all askew, diaper bum stuck in the air, with her head stuck between two bannisters in the stairway going upstairs.  
H just stared at her knowing, I think, that something was quite wrong but clearly couldn't articulate that things had gone awry. They had been having such a great time only moments ago.  Things had been going so well.

I ran downstairs and grabbed the saw and sawed the child out of the bannister. 

This was just one of the many times that I realized that parenting was really not possible without a good stash of wine readily available. 

It WAS almost noon.

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