I don’t want a mini-me
I’m a few months behind Kat on this whole pregnancy thing (I’m only 15 weeks), but I relate in one very important way…I’m going to be in major trouble if the kid turns out to be the baby/toddler I was. My mother claims she was appreciative of the hyper-intelligent hyper-activity because it showed that I was both smart and coordinated, but I got in quite a lot of trouble.
|Plotting my first move...|
Here is a top 5 list of examples why I don’t want the Lion to be like myself:
5) Babies in my family are HUGE. All my cousins except for a pair of 6 pound twins and myself weighed in at almost 10 pounds or more. I look deceptively small. I was 8 pounds at a week early when my mother had been severely ill with the flu for some time…and still measured 21 ½ inches.
4) I was crawling by 6 months. And could worm across the room at 3. On the back of this Christmas card it says, “Jimmy is now crawling & pulling himself up to stand at age of 6 months – I didn’t think a baby could go faster than Katy did!”
3) At 18 months I became a chef. At 2 am, I climbed out of my crib, opened the door, went down to the kitchen, and went to work, dragging a chair behind me. I got out a pot, filled it with water, put it on the stove, got hot dogs out of the freezer, put them in water, and as I was lighting the stove, my mother came into the room to check out the commotion. She said the only thing I did wrong was fail to take the hot dogs out of the wrapper. At this point, they put a lock on my door.
2) I tried to kill my brother. Frequently. I was more than a little jealous. Because of this, my parents had to wear him in a pouch continuously for many months. Just look at the fear in his eyes:
|"Mom...MOM? Somebody gonna help me here?"|
1) I was an escape artist. Once when dropping me off at a gymnastics class for toddlers, my mother warned the teacher, “You’ve GOT to keep an eye on this one, she’ll run.” The teacher, thinking she was a paranoid parent, assured her she’d done it for a long time, and I’d be fine. Little did she realize that 20 minutes later, my mother would turn around in the kitchen and discover I had walked ½ a mile down a highway to come home by myself. This is one of many times my mother had to go confront a crying teacher.
Maybe I wouldn’t mind smart and coordinated, but I have MANY other stories I could tell… At least a mini-me means in about 5 months there will be PLENTY to read about on my blog!