A dad on the playground once told me that when his son turned two, he spent the entire year trying to prevent his child from dying. I laughed really hard when I heard this. Now I am no longer laughing. I am crying.
Ari will be two in eight days, and the destruction has already started. Wires he was once apathetic about, he is now pulling at, he approaches the table and throws everything onto the floor including the lap top, he walks brazenly into the kitchen, grabs the cat’s water bowl and confidently dumps its contents onto the floor. When this is done he laughs and then says:
“Sorry mama.” Then he laughs some more, looks at me and says “Wa wa!”
Anything and everything he can pick up and throw he does. This includes: crayons, small metal cars, remotes, cups, plates, the phone, shoes and many more objects that escape me right now.
That dad was right. I shouldn’t have laughed at him, I should have given him a hug and said, “Congratulations, your son is alive!”
