One Step Ahead
Any of you have that one kid that you just know is going to be trouble? And not like after school detention kinda trouble. More like, urinate on a cop car, ride naked on top of a taxi cab, Johnny Knoxville kinda shit. Well, I've got myself one of those.
Rocky took his first steps a few weeks ago. He wasn’t even nine months old yet. And before you dismiss this as a brag post, please believe me—it isn’t. He has already taken enough blows to the head that this early walking thing will surely lead to us going broke paying for ER visits and SAT tutors.
He is my second go around at this motherhood thing. And my second boy. So for some (insane) reason I thought, “how different could it be?”. Well, the answer is VERY different. For example...
- They look nothing alike. Rex looks exactly like Matt and Rocky is an exact replica of my baby pictures. Someone actually said to me, "It's so funny, Rex looks just like Matt and Rocky looks just like you! (Pause) Rex is so cute, he could be a model."---hmmm, yeah. I see what you did there. #bye
- Rex slept through the night at six weeks old and since then, sleep has been (basically) a non-issue. Rocky slept through the night for the first time a month and a half ago. And I don't mean he got up once for a quick feeding. I mean for eight months he was awake EVERY.TWO.HOURS. All night. Every night. Even Benadryl wouldn't keep his ass asleep.
- Rex could stand for a full month before he dared to take his first step at fourteen months. He was cautious and careful. This morning I turned around for ten seconds and found Rocky holding my half-drank fresca (oh, shut up) standing on a seat trying to scale my window blinds.
- Rex still cries and needs to be held when we use the vacuum. He gets nervous. Rocky chases the vacuum around the room with an asshole grin on his face, determined to eat the cord.
- Rex’s diet consists only of fruitsnacks, popcorn, and yogurt smoothies. Rocky says yes to everything-including dust bunnies, the computer mouse, Q-tips, magnets, and his carseat.
So, what’s the point? Well, the point is that I am screwed. I have absolutely no idea how to keep up with this little madman. Something about his craziness makes me absolutely obsessed with him, but it also leaves me insanely nervous about him breaking a bone, choking, knocking himself out, dying (yeah, really. I have anxiety okay?!)—you know, all the fun stuff.
Like, I can picture Rex learning to ride a bike, feeling nervous and cautious, going slow and wanting my hand on the back of the seat until he is sure he is ready. And then I think of Rocky. He will be gnawing off his training wheels when he is three and poppin' wheelies down the freeway. And I know that when Rex gets his license he will probably be a little too apprehensive about getting pulled over to go too far over the speed limit. Rocky will be ridin’ dirty in the breakdown lane with my stolen vodka in the back seat. He just has one of those “I will never pass a CORI check but you will love me so much anyway” kinda faces.
For now I’ve decided that instead of staying up every night worrying, I will just take The Rocky Challenge a day at a time. Last week I spent $139 on amazon buying all of the babyproofing stuff that I never needed with Rex. I have created a barricade in the living room with pillows, rolled up blankets, couches, and tables to allow him some space to play without my hand hovering four inches from his face. I wrote down emergency numbers and taped them to the fridge. And I threw away every toy that could have been a choking hazard. Oh, and I called my doctor and got Xanax.
So, wish me luck. And Rocky, if you are reading this—you are the most energetic, goofy, daring, fun, amazing, heart attack I’ve ever known. Here's to us making it through your next 18 years!