There are certain superpowers that come with motherhood, like that sixth sense that tells you when the stretch of silence has lasted just a second too long, alerting you to the mischief your toddler is making in the bathroom, moments before he turns your iPhone into a raft for his tiger figurine to float on in the toilet.
I also think mothers are able to MOVE at lightning speed when the situation calls for it. For example, my little brother began choking on an apricot pit in the backseat of the car once. My mom, seated in the passenger side up front, unbuckled herself, reached back and freed him from his carseat, flopped him over her knee and beat the pit out of him in about .25 seconds. I don’t think any other human would have been able to do it faster. My memories of it play out like a scene from an action hero movie.
So, when I see something happen, or sense it about to happen, it’s only natural for me to act and move very quickly. But, it seems it’s just not that way for my husband.
This weekend we visited family out in the country. As I walked into the house from the sprawling front yard, baby on my hip, my Papa muttered, “Jill, ya got a wasp on yer back.”
And then… he just SAT there.
So I looked at Scott who confirmed there was, indeed, a wasp on my back. And then he motioned for me to walk back to him so he could brush it off of me.
“PEOPLE! Get up and get this damn thing off of me!!”
I mean, it was all I could do not to throw the baby down and begin running around, swatting at my back while trying to rip my shirt off. The least my husband could have done was run like hell to me and help me.
Yesterday we went to a local minor league baseball game. We opted for general admission seats on the grass. We laid down a blanket at the top of a hill under the scoreboard and Kendall got to run around in front of us down below. As I sat with the baby on my lap, I noticed Kendall began to climb the fence at the bottom of the hill, the one keeping him from falling 10 feet onto the baseball field.
Holy. Mommy Visions. I have an unhealthy fear of kids falling off/over things at great heights. I grabbed Scott’s arm and told him to stop Kendall because I was currently pinned down by a 22.5 lb chunk of chub. He proceeded to slowly stand up and casually walk down the hill.
“Kendall! KENDALL!! KENDALL MILAM KRAUSE YOU GET DOWN FROM THERE RIGHT NOW YOU ARE GOING TO TIMEOUT IF I GET DOWN THERE!!!” I began shouting while simultaneously laying the baby down and thinking, “Oh, for fucks sake, Scott, WOULD YOU MOVE IT?!”
I maintain that I could have made it down that hill and back, with a screaming 3 year old slung over my shoulder, faster than my husband could have taken 3 steps if Kendall wouldn’t have responded to my shrill threats. Scott claimed I was “making a scene,” and that he was just “staying calm.”
A scene? You know what made a scene?
How about when Kendall threw his hat onto the baseball field from the bottom of the hill, causing a pause in play so that an outfielder could throw it back over the fence? Oh yeah, that was my kid.
Scott was actually on his liesurely way down the hill to take the hat from Kendall because he’d already tossed it up in the air once, and it landed dangerously close to the fence. Sensing he’d probably do it again, knowing it would probably land on the baseball field below next time, Scott began down to take the hat away. Except, EXCEPT?? LACKING SENSE OF URGENCY.
Make haste! The child moves too fast! You can run 26.2 miles in 3 hours and 38 minutes. MOVE mothafukka!!
Sometimes it’s like I’m watching Friday the 13th and he’s Jason. What is UP with all the slow walking, dude?
Is this a man thing or just a *my* man thing?
Kendall is 3 years 2 months and Leyna is 6 months old.