exile on my street
i know why she does it, though: she's bored. she tires of her multi-colored plastic chains. she is bored of the giant stuffed tiger. the exersaucer entertains her for a few minutes, tops, before its charms cease to seduce her. mind you, until the moment where she decides that the world is about to end if something (namely me) doesn't drastically alter her reality PRONTO, she is having the time of her life. a fucking blast. she smiles and shouts with glee. but then, with almost no warning, it all comes crashing to a halt. she pauses. her brow furrows almost imperceptibly. she stops smiling. she looks around the room, searching for the invisible demon which is apparently about to enter her being. she opens her mouth. and then she makes this sound:
she wants me to know that she is bored! and it is too late. she has officially passed the point of no return: NOTHING i do will make her unbored.
cats? they'll do for a minute. the mirror?! sure, interesting enough ... for 34 seconds. a walk in the bjorn??!! only if you don't mind having a test of the emergency broadcast system strapped to your ribcage in public for 30 minutes. a nap? HA, FOOL!
this kid is, i have no choice but to conclude, an ADHD afflicted midget with a severe methamphetamine addiction. i swear, she's doing meth in her crib while she's supposed to be napping. HOW CAN ANYONE HAVE THIS MUCH UNSTOPPABLE ENERGY?!?! the reaching! the grabbing! the pulling! the needing!
i think i know what's going on: she desperately wants to move. she has no desire whatsoever to fucking sit still and enjoy her multi-textured board books which somehow manage to captivate her father for hours. (THAT'S not my puppy, her ears are too fluffy! feel the ears! feel how soft and soothing they are ... definitely too fluffy. definitely not my puppy. and yet ... everything is suddenly, well, GOOD when you caress those soft puppy ears. STROKE THEM!) she does not want to remain in one place. she does not want to sit quietly while you drink scotch at 11 am (hey, it's almost noon!) and look at dirty, dirty pitctures on your wife's computer. this baby has bigger plans for her day!
and yet! she shows absolutely no interest in crawling. no. she is much, much more intrigued by the prospect of slipping a beaten copy of On the Road into her back pocket and hitting the asphalt with her own private Neal Cassady -- she wants to cruise. she wants to ramble. she wants to jig and jog. she wants to move. mostly, she is very excited by the prospect of destroying my house. she wants to yank every motherlovin' book and picture frame and knicknack that isn't nailed down from the bottom shelves of all our book cases. she wants to to make life exceedingly difficult for a certain awkward, slow-moving, asthmatic galoot of a mr. nice guy. anything else would be just, well, boring. she wants to wreck this place like it was some classy hotel and she was the rolling stones on tour in 1975.
and you know what? i am confident that she will ... i have never been more confident of anything.