Because she can.
I've decided to blog today about my two little firecrackers -- my girls -- since I've been voicing a preference that Fiver be a boy and lest some troll-O-riffic person interpret that as a dislike for my own girls.
I took Bitty Girl out with me yesterday to get a pig. I didn't choose her specifically, we rotate each baby going out for some alone time and Boy and The Human Crash Test Dummy will get to go to the sale next Saturday. That bumped Bitty into the pig-getting spot.
Both of my girls are the Babies Without Fear. It never occurs to them that, say, hanging by ones toes off of the deck may result in a fall or that walking up to a strange person, dog, or ... pig might be detrimental. By contrast, both my boys are cautious. I have to keep my eyes peeled around the girls.
When we got to the guy's place she leapt out of the truck, and after a brief spat with her shoes ("sand in my sandals!"*), after which she tore them off and flung them, she strode right up to the pig pen in her bare feet, ready to haggle.
We chose our little boar pig and Bitty proclaimed him immediately "MY pig!". Thinking I'd get no answer, I asked her as we were driving home what she wanted to name her pig. She replied immediately: "Gween!"
Me: "Queen?"
Bitty: "Gween!"
Me: (mystified) "What?"
Bitty: (angry now) "GWEEN, GWEEEEN!"
Me: "Green?"
Bitty: (smugly satisfied) "Gween."
So my boar pig (who is a Duroc/Spot cross and is red with black spots) is GREEN. Make a note.
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I have had people look startled when I call my oldest daughter The Human Crash Test Dummy but they just don't understand. Most kids are clumsy to a degree, some more so than others. The HCTD outperforms them all.
She stumbles, falls, bangs, crunches, twists, pulls, or otherwise harms herself roughly every 20 minutes.
Seriously.
She's pigeon-toed, which doesn't help, but she's also a fearless monkey girl. She has no qualms whatsoever about scaling furniture, doing flips off of chairs, hanging from trees, running with scissors, etc.
The other day was a classic example of nap-time with the HCTD:
First off, she rarely sleeps. This is not a problem. My only requirement is that everyone stay in one place (bed) and be quiet for the duration. Actual sleep is at their own discretion.
Because she is so ... busy and she disturbs the sleep of any sibling, she camps out in the parlour, on a toddler bed, at naptime. She plays, looks through books, messes with the cats (who conveniently come to her), and manages to bang her head, get scratched, or fall entirely out of bed at least twice every day. It's become almost routine: a crash and weeping followed by a tearful HCTD at the doorway telling me what happened in elaborate and dramatic detail.
The day in question started out no differently: I hear her talking to the cats in that high-pitched, sing-songy voice of hers, the squeak of the toddler bed frame, a thud, and a burst of crying.
I looked up calmly as she came to the doorway of the family room (I learned early on to barely react at all to these events. If you make too much of them the drama rises exponentially.)
Much weeping. I ascertain that she's not actually hurt as she prepares her statement. It is this:
"Momma ... momma, I, uh ... (points to head) ... I - I fell on my brain!" while I'm struggling to keep from laughing, she then indicates her foot and says: "... and I broked my bones!"
Yes, sometimes having this child is like living in the middle of a Monty Python skit.
Just today I (somehow -- not sure how this started) got into a convo with Boy about which body parts were appropriate to mention in public. He would ask about a certain part ("Can I show my feet? Are feet private?"), get a reply, and go on to another. At some point we arrived at nipples. For the sake of simplicity, I said that, no one didn't show one's nipples in public or talk about them in polite conversation.
While Boy digested this, the HCTD yanks up her shirt, points to her own chest and says, solemnly: "Yeah ... this is a very private nipple."
Now you know why I'm hoping Fiver is a boy. I've met my quota of cute-but-weird.
*translated from the BittySpeak
3 Comments:
Oh, this is a BEAUTIFUL post! Thanks so much for this little view into your family.
My favorite child-injury story goes like this: Beanie was almost two. She's in her sister's room and wants to turn on the light but is too short, by several inches, to reach the switch. Being the very clever child that she's always been, she drags the (get this) Sit 'N Spin under the switch and proceeds to balance herself on the center spine, reaches up and flips the switch. The act of flipping throws her balance off and she goes tumbling off the Sit 'N Spin and makes contact with the bed frame on her way to the floor, leaving a perfect black and blue streak on her forehead, almost exactly between her eyes.
Can you guess what was scheduled for the next day? YEP! A DOCTOR'S APPOINTMENT!!
We arrive at the office, and the first thing Punkin' does is whine that she's hungry (you need to understand here that we'd JUST come from lunch with a friend and had spent the previous hour languishing in a local Pizza Hut). The pediatrician, whom I ADORE, looks at Punkin', then turns to me and says "Okay, you're starving her, what's the story with the other one?" I proceed to explain the whole Sit 'N Spin adventure while the lovely doctor nods and smiles.
The check-up complete, we make our way out of the exam room and into the office to pay the deductable. Now, understand that there are two counters in the lobby - the nurses' station on one side and the receptionist / payment counter on the other. It's on the latter counter that the STICKERS live. Ooooh! Stickers!
So the baby starts toddling out of the room we were in, looking at the sticker basket the whole time. She then walks STRAIGHT into the wall of the nurses station and ends up on her ass. I turned to my beloved doctor and made one of those "SEE! NOW do you believe my Sit 'N Spin story?!" faces, to which she replied "Okay, I'll give you that one, but next time, I want those children FED!"
She gets me EVERY time!
Great post! HCTD sounds really cute.
While my daughter is not so physically fearless, she is absolutely fearless with her mouth, as in speaking up and speaking out, and she always has been. Which is great. Really. That is all I ever wanted for my girl. Yea.
All three of my little guys are the physical daredevils. I once went into the boys' room to check on them before I went to bed only to find EEF's (the four-year-old's) bed empty. Stupified, I began searching the room with a flashlight (so I wouldn't wake his little brothers) only to find him scaling the built-in bookshelf which has little room for feet--even little feet--because it is filled with books. You could tell he was praying I wouldn't find him because he clung to the bookshelf like a cat burgular for almost five minutes while I checked the rest of the room. That is one of his many antics.
Very cute stories. :) You've got a couple live wires, Miss Blue.
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