Help Ma Boab!

I have this feeling lately that I really am losing it …

Since my son decided to try cruising between furniture at the ripe old age of seven months and start walking at nine-and-a-half months, my life has never been the same. Lately I can feel the insanity creeping in, and I can’t help but feel like I am under the thumb of a thirteen-month-old.

Ian thinks it’s great to chew dirt and spread it around his face. He climbs on side tables and propels himself onto the couch. Chews candles and rubs the wax on my windows. Unravels toilet paper, shreds it all over the floor and then eats it. Opens drawers full of folded clothing and tosses it behind him in a cotton and polyester orgy. Empties the dishwasher as I’m loading it, at times stopping to grab a nasty spoon and attempt to suck on it, or grab a steak knife when I’m picking something else out of the sink.

While I am drying my hair and have both hands occupied, he opens my makeup drawer and chews eyeshadow applicators, sucks powder brushes and chips out blusher and spreads it all over the inside of the drawer, on the floor and on his clothes.

I think I need professional psychiatric help. Oh mama … is this a stage, and how long will it last? I am constantly checking and isolating grey hair and I don’t think I can spare too many more. The sad thing? He grins at me so sweetly with that beautiful innocence of a child, he giggles heartily as I chase him and watch him fall over his own feet in his haste to escape. I love the little guy and I am beginning to wonder if his behaviour is normal and I am the inconsiderate one for not letting him explore his world and express himself.

See what I mean? He’s made me delusional. I’ll be strumming my bottom lip like a banjo and whistling “Dixie” before I know it.

It’s not that I want answers or sympathy, I just need an outlet. I am seriously going to invest in magnetic door and drawer locks. I already have some plastic ones, but I fear that his IQ will increase ten-fold and they will be but splintered fragments discarded on the floor, like the clearance rack at Old Navy.

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