Little Monster

When Madelynn was a newborn, I had so many plans on how I was going to react to each stage in her life. I had done a lot of research, reading everything I could about babies and their first year. I remember a conversation I had with Jeffrey, explaining to him that I wanted to avoid using the world "no" too often, so that it would be more useful when I really needed it.

That's kind of funny now. "No" seems to be the only word in my vocabulary these days, and I just don't know how to stop. My baby blob turned into a silent hurricane practically over night, weaving a path of destruction through this apartment with me trailing two steps behind, picking up the pieces and begging "no, no, no". She's a monster.

From pulling out the outlet covers to unplugging the cable to the TV, she's constantly into something that she shouldn't be. I drag her away, trying to redirect her attention to something more baby-friendly to play with, but I guess she doesn't like her toys as much, because she's always escaping to return to the "untouchables". After I pull her away the third or fourth time, she launches into a temper tantrum, kicking and biting, arching her back and trying to escape, screeching this awful, whiny scream through the whole ordeal. I can't turn my back long enough to even walk into the kitchen, by the time I turn to face the living room, she's gone, in the bathroom yanking out toilet paper, in the cat's room with spilled cat food around her feet, or in her bedroom, climbing her pony. I've been gating off the hallway in an attempt to thwart these solo baby missions, but the second I have the gate in place, Mads is right there, rattling the gate and screaming, trying to climb to the top.

When I wake up in the morning, I scatter her larger toys around the room, trying to block off the things that she shouldn't be touching. She always finds a way, crawling around the ottaman, over the Little Superstar, under the end table, and finally victory, behind the couch to turn off the power strip, and yank out some outlet covers. I spend the majority of my day sitting on the living room floor, just watching. I watch her get past all my little obstacle courses, I watch her figure out how to open the dishwasher (that was slightly scary), and I watch her use the bumbo as a step ladder to climb on the couch. It would be amazing to watch if I weren't so frustrated, she's a genius, she can absolutely do anything.

Nursing is like a full contact sport, she kicks me in the stomach, tries to stand on my legs, rolls this way and that, all with one nipple firmly clenched between her teeth. When I try to hold her down, keep her still for just five minutes, a new fit begins and she's pinching my neck and kicking my arms. She beats the crap out of me, I have the bruises to prove it.

Here's Mads stuck under a chair:

That was the fifth time that I had rescued her from this exact position. I pull her out, she crawls back under and screams. I pull her out, she crawls back under and screams.

Here's Mads with a bag of cookies:

Those cookies used to be in a box. The box was sitting on the high shelf of the desk, near the picture frame, but pushed back far enough that she couldn't reach. She used the bottom shelf of the desk as a step stool to get the box, destroyed the top of the box to get the bag, and destroyed part of the bag to get her cookies. She had one in her mouth, two in her hand, and one on the floor when she was found.

She ate a piece of cat food today. She had two in her mouth and I could only fish out one before she swallowed the other. It must have tasted awful.

I can't yell at her. She's just a baby, and as much as I'd like to scream sometimes, I usually just turn around and laugh. I don't want her to see me smile, but I can't help it, she's the cutest little monster.