My darling little Abby has turned into a monkey. At almost 14 months of age, she’s trying her best to climb over anything in sight. She is soveryclose to scaling the couch and the other day, I caught her pulling out a drawer in order to get on top of our coffee table. Ingenious, yes. Since it’s closer to the floor, thus easier to reach, Jedi’s bed has become her absolute favorite place to climb, though.
I have been opposing this new found skill from the very start. I tried to barricade and elevate and distract, but nothing worked. Sometimes, I even closed Jedi’s bedroom door. However, this didn’t bode well, either, considering all the kids’ toys are in that room as well. And a kid without toys is like a root beer float without the ice cream.
It would have been remarkably less terrifying if she knew how to get down, I told myself, but I didn’t think she did.
After going around and around, like the definition of a helicopter parent, I decided to try a different approach. A bit of reverse psychology. I would simply calm down, halt the ridiculous overreactions, and see what happened.
So I sat back, held my breath, and waited for an inevitable thud and string of tears. Except it didn’t come. Do you know what she did? You know where this is going, right? She climbed up, squealed with delight at herself, and when she was ready she scooted down. And then she did it again, and again, until it was no longer amusing.
This could very well be my new motto for motherhood, if not life: just chill out already and who knows what can happen.