Thursday, September 21, 2006

When My Genes Decide to Make an Appearance

If I had to identify my biggest fault, I'd probably point to my clumsiness. Put me in a padded room, and I would manage to injure myself on the one staple that is sticking out in the entire room. I'm constantly covered in bruises, which has made people suspect more than one ex-boyfriend of beating the crap out of me. But when I say I've fallen down the stairs, there's really no doubt: stairs just aren't my friends. Just to make my point, yesterday, I managed to slam my car door on my thumb. How does one close a heavy Jeep door on one's thumb? Couldn't tell you. But I can tell you that the bottom half of my nail is black and it continues to hurt for me to press on the space key.

When Playa' was born, one of the first thing that the nurses said to me was that he looked absolutely nothing like me and everything like Sweetie Pie. Which made me feel like I'd only been a petri dish used to grow the perfect clone. I accepted this as truth and satisfied myself with the fact that Playa' had my bottom lip and could pout his way out of the electric chair if need be.

I now know that the universe wanted Playa' to have my genes, but in a humoristic America's Funniest Home Videos type of way.

I could list the number of times Playa' has smashed his head, but by the 30th paragraph, you'd probably be bored comatose. I will, however, share with you an incident that occured earlier this week that made me realize that Playa' is in fact a Mini Me and not just a normal baby who falls down and goes boom.

One of the baby educational toy companies recently recalled one of their toys. This isn't a toy that I own, so I didn't read the email, just saw that it involved babies getting their arm stuck in a ball tube. I knew another mommy friend of mine who had this toy (for her son of course, if she got enjoyment out of putting balls down a tube that made noise, she'd be a man) and forwarded her the recall.

On Monday, Playa and I went over to hang out at their house and Playa' gravitated to this toy right away, instinctively knowing that it was the toddler equivalent of eating glass. I asked the other mom if she'd called the company yet to get the repair kit and she casually mentioned that she still hadn't time to do it. After all, her son had the toy for more than six months now, and he never once even came close to getting his arm stuck, so this isn't like she was still feeding bagged spinach to him. Before even having the opportunity to think 'uh oh,' a wail comes from across the room.

It's Playa'. And his arm is stuck down the tube like a proctology exam gone bad.

My first thought was that I didn't read the recall, so I don't know if there's any way to pry the arm out or if I'm supposed to drive to the hospital, baby and ginormous toy strapped in his car seat.

After calling the lord's name in vain for 30 seconds, punctuated by Playa' telling me to shut up and get him out of this situation, I saw a little plastic tab that could be pushed in and successfully freed my poor son's arm from the jaws of the evil toy.

No lasting damage, just a little welt where the toy bit down on him. As soon as he was done crying, I couldn't do anything but laugh at him. Because really, only 50 something kids have gotten their arm stuck in that toy. That's across all of North America, where I'm sure hundreds of thousands of units of this toy were sold.

My son manages to figure out what was wrong with its engineering in 30 seconds.

I am so freaking proud of him sometimes that it makes me bruise just thinking about it.

Love,

Catwoman.

3 comments:

random_mommy said...

I can only imagine the kind of bruises you end up with after a night of drinking...

Catwoman said...

I've literally had bruises up and down both legs and woken up not knowing how in the world I got them.

I once fell into an empty pool when I was nine years old. A dog happened to wag his tail near me. I'm a whole new category of clumsy.

jempress said...

hahaha! you crack me up.