We encourage Annabelle. A lot. In fact, that's what we've spent most of our time doing in the last month.
- "Grab that ring, Belle. You've got it! Good girl!"
- "Smile for the camera, cutie."
- "Fall asleep, baby. You can do it!"
And then, this week, all of a sudden, it happened. The unthinkable. The unimaginable. The first "No!"
It was a pretty surreal moment, almost like slow motion. I think I actually saw the two letters rolling off my tongue. And as soon as I said it, I regretted it.
What possibly could have forced me to say such an awful thing to a perfect, angelic four-month-old baby?
What possibly could have forced me to say such an awful thing to a perfect, angelic four-month-old baby?
I was giving Annabelle a tour of our apartment, which happens to be one of our favorite activities. We check out the blinds on the windows, the shiny refrigerator, the snow-covered backyard, and the pictures of Mom and Dad when they were young and care-free. We've probably taken the tour, oh, 739 times since she was born.
The tour, which can last up to 15 minutes, depending on the quality of the guide, typically ends in Belle's room. We look at her white noise machine, some of her stuffed animals, and pay homage to the magic sleep suit. And we always end up in front of her full-length mirror for a spirited game of "Who's the Baby in the Mirror?" (Hint: It's always Annabelle.) She looks at herself and smiles. She looks at me and makes a funny face. Then she hides into my shoulder. It cracks us both up every time.
But on this occasion, on Wednesday night, as I looked away to move something from her crib, her little hand reached out to grab the mirror. Then her hand darted toward the side of the mirror and she tried to grab it ... "No, Belle!" I grabbed her hand and pulled it back toward us.
Now, the chance of her hurting herself was somewhere around 1 in 8,000. The side of the mirror isn't exactly sharp, but it does have a corner that made me envision a cut finger, a bloody mess, a wailing baby, and an inconsolable Dad. Fortunately, none of that happened. Annabelle didn't seem bothered by my negative words and was asleep in her crib five minutes later.
I left her room with my head down and told Bridget what happened, about the first time I discouraged our daughter from doing something. She smiled and put it in perspective for me: "That 'no,' sweetie, is the first of many."
As usual, she's right. The word "no" is going to become a favorite in the next several months. Annabelle's going to start putting Oscar's fur in her mouth and banging her head against everything she can find. She's going to start crawling and pulling things off tables. Then, of course, she'll start dating asinine teenage boys who won't wear their baseball caps the right way. Keep your hands to yourself, punk!
(Relax, Mike, relax ...)
Okay, so I'm getting a little ahead of myself. Still, she's my little girl and she's perfect. If you ever read this, Annabelle, just know how traumatic it was for me to say "No" to you for the first time. Now, shut off the TV and go do your homework ...
The tour, which can last up to 15 minutes, depending on the quality of the guide, typically ends in Belle's room. We look at her white noise machine, some of her stuffed animals, and pay homage to the magic sleep suit. And we always end up in front of her full-length mirror for a spirited game of "Who's the Baby in the Mirror?" (Hint: It's always Annabelle.) She looks at herself and smiles. She looks at me and makes a funny face. Then she hides into my shoulder. It cracks us both up every time.
But on this occasion, on Wednesday night, as I looked away to move something from her crib, her little hand reached out to grab the mirror. Then her hand darted toward the side of the mirror and she tried to grab it ... "No, Belle!" I grabbed her hand and pulled it back toward us.
Now, the chance of her hurting herself was somewhere around 1 in 8,000. The side of the mirror isn't exactly sharp, but it does have a corner that made me envision a cut finger, a bloody mess, a wailing baby, and an inconsolable Dad. Fortunately, none of that happened. Annabelle didn't seem bothered by my negative words and was asleep in her crib five minutes later.
I left her room with my head down and told Bridget what happened, about the first time I discouraged our daughter from doing something. She smiled and put it in perspective for me: "That 'no,' sweetie, is the first of many."
As usual, she's right. The word "no" is going to become a favorite in the next several months. Annabelle's going to start putting Oscar's fur in her mouth and banging her head against everything she can find. She's going to start crawling and pulling things off tables. Then, of course, she'll start dating asinine teenage boys who won't wear their baseball caps the right way. Keep your hands to yourself, punk!
(Relax, Mike, relax ...)
Okay, so I'm getting a little ahead of myself. Still, she's my little girl and she's perfect. If you ever read this, Annabelle, just know how traumatic it was for me to say "No" to you for the first time. Now, shut off the TV and go do your homework ...
No comments:
Post a Comment