Our morning started out with a bang. Literally. My youngest child has mastered
the art of crib rail pommel horse. We've become accustomed to the sounds of
rhythmic slapping noises coming from her room in the early hours. She's usually
content to drag her sippy cup up and down the side bars of her crib, like a wee
convict with a tin cup. Th-wap wap wap wap wap wap wap. Th-wap wap wap wap wap
wap. Then she'll clutch a pair of bars, rattling them mercilessly. The final
event involves smooshing her face into the space between bars. The noises today
involved grunting. I lay in bed, pretending I didn't hear what was going on,
thinking that the hubs would be on diaper duty. Frantic grappling noises came
next, followed by a huge "Aaaaaaaaargh!" That's Mama's baby all right. Silence.
And then "Bam!" Then silence. Then a very tiny "Ta-Daaaaa!" I swung my legs out
of bed as my son trotted to my bedside. "Mommy! I heard a kersplosion!" As I
reached the doorway, my 20 month old came trotting around the corner, arms
outstretched. She announced "I down! I fine! Ta-Daaaaaa!" I wonder if she stuck
the landing?