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Magic Advice
People, parents, hop on line and ask for advice on blogs and forums and chatrooms and mailing lists. How do I do this? Is this normal? What do we do now? How do we introduce a bottle? How do we wean? Potty training: who’s got answers? Ditching the pacifier at night: lay some advice on me. Family bed: how do we end this nightmare of wretchedness and kicking?
But people don’t really want advice.
They want magic.
They want to discover that magic step, hint, technique that will make whatever it is easy and painless.
They ask for advice but what they want is a miracle.
Like, “all you have to do is give your child chamomile tea laced with Benedryl and he will sleep through the night in his own bed and you’ll no longer wake up fifteen times a night because he’s bicycling in his sleep, muttering about trains falling into the water (oh no!), and his pacifier fell out of his mouth and now he can’t find it.” “To wean your child from all pacifier use ever without tears, simply press up down up down left left left right down down triangle right enter.” “Child won’t eat vegetables? Just follow these three easy steps and he will become a true gourmand for ever and ever the end amen so mote it be.”
Miracles.
I look for them, too.
IN OTHER NEWS, I made rice krispy treats today and now I cannot eat one around Niko because he will literally climb up me and tear it out of my mouth, then run away eating it. EATING IT ALL. (I was going to do a cooking blog post about it, but come on. Who doesn’t know how to make these? It’s as easy as falling over. Also I am pleased to note that Marshmallow Fluff now comes in glass jars again, not plastic. Huzzah!) Also, he was jumping on the couch and before I could stop him– or catch him– he fell backwards off the couch and hit his head on the floor. After he calmed down, he told me what had happened (even though I was right there). “oh no! Baby boom. Owie owie owie!” He patted his head gingerly at the last bit. I managed to cut my finger while making carrot bread the other day (I AM MORTIFIED BY THIS. In my defense, I was distracted by a toddler. I’ve been chopping carrots since I was FIVE and my knife skills are pretty safe. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN. If we had insurance, I would have trotted off to get stitches (or glue); instead, it’s just going to scar.) and every time Niko sees the bandage (it isn’t bleeding any more, but the wound gapes open and then stings if it’s unbandaged) he pats my hand and says “mama owie.” At one point today, after he hit his head, he patted my finger and said “mama owie. owwwwwwie. Mama dih *does ASL sign for “hot”* OWIE OWIE OWIE.” I’m not sure what “dih” is. Said? Did? But I’m pretty sure he was imitating what he thinks I’d say if I hurt myself. OWIE OWIE OWIE. (SPOILER: that is not what I say when I hurt myself.) Anyway, I said that yes, I had an owie, and asked him if HE had any owies and he shook his head and vaulted over his little chair to play with more trains. So I guess he’s ok.
Mirrored from Now Showing!.