My WTF Child
Every so often, a WTF child is born.
You know, that large as life kid doing all the insane shit that continually leaves you saying WTF???
From the moment he was born, he was a pistol.
He was the ruler of our universe and he let everyone know. It was a rather traumatic entrance into the world which gave us our first mind-blown, wtf-just-happened situation. Then, as we started to get to know our little guy, all the wtf just happened/wtf is going on/wtf is he thinking’s started piling up.
From the get, he was high maintenance af.
He was one of those kids you could never put down. I used to let him sleep in the swing so I could catch some z’s which bought us a 1-way ticket to helmet land. It ended up being a saving grace as he was a WTF child. He was literally running around the house at 9 months old (wtf?). He had a physical therapist that would come to the house to assist with helmet life. One day she said “there is just nothing else I can teach him.” So, she taught him to climb the stairs and peaced out on us (wtf?). We tried gates. All the gates. But baby gates just aren’t made for Spiderman wtf children. There was not a gate he could not scale, break, escape.
I dreamed of a calm day where I could put him in a pack and play.
My sister did this with her child of the same age, and I longed to be able to rest assured that he would be safe while I showered for 5 minutes, but that was not our reality either. There was really nothing I could do to contain him other than turn the lock around and lock him in his room. But yeah, you guessed it, he pretty much ruined that too. He would climb the back ornate portion of the crib, scale the bookshelf, disassemble light fixtures, pee under the door, and tell me he was sticking quarters up his butt so I would open the door (wtf?).
Even “sleeping” alone became disastrous.
Allow me to tell you about the time I put him in there to attempt to get him to nap alone while I rocked my new infant (yes, I have a girl too, she is challenging, but her wtf moments are not nearly as wtfish as his). On the particular day of reference, he actually pooped in his diaper, took it off, painted the walls and carpet in feces straight prisoner style (wtf?). I had to have my dad come get him urgently as I was ready to explode like Mt. Vesuvius. I spent hours decontaminating this hazmat scene and of course this was not the end of his poop painting, but it was by far the worst offense of it.
He required constant attention, activity, and exercise.
And oh, by the way, he still does (more on that later). By the time he was 5, he had been to the ER 3 times… stitches on forehead day before first birthday, multiple tooth extractions at 2 years old due to a playground incident and his latest hyphemia from being snapped by a bungee cord whilst “towing” a kid’s jeep at age 5 (wttriplef?) All of these incidents deserve their very own posts, but you get the idea. And let me tell you, you haven’t lived until your 4 year old fake faints at Toys R Us and cashiers are involved about to call paramedics (wtf, c’mon bro).
If you have or know a wtf child, you know that every day is a challenge/disaster, but oh so very, very entertaining. Mad love to all the cedric-the-entertainer wtf children out there.