“No baby, don’t pull mommy’s hair, let go please. Please let go. Lee, can you get his hands out of my hair please?!”

“No biting Oliver! No biting! No…no… stop biting please.”

“Ahllizer… leggo ny lip lease…. leases leggo….”

He may be small, but my son is a force of nature, and that force is usually directed at me.

As he grows he learns to master his motor skills. I seem to be the most convenient tool for practice. My hair gets yanked on as he buries his hands into the nape of my neck, my face gets smothered with full force drooly kisses, bumped with baby chin, and rearranged as he pulls on my cheeks and lips. He pulls on my clothes, kicks my stomach, bites my fingers, scratches my chest, twists my skin.

I know he doesn’t do it on purpose, he doesn’t even understand that it hurts. Like Godzilla saving Japan from the latest monster, he doesn’t understand the havoc wrecked by his actions. I am merely collateral damage. His arms and legs don’t work as well as they will one day work, and until he masters them, I will continue to be smacked and kicked, and otherwise abused. I didn’t notice it so much with my daughter, I think Oliver is much stronger than she was. I also think he wants to be in my arms more, so his practice sessions have a more direct effect on me than hers did.

I hear the cry of baby Godzilla, demanding milk and more snuggles. Maybe I should get some kick-boxing gear and wear it around the house.

Happy birthday to me,
I live in a menagerie,
I’m surrounded by monkeys,
but they’re cute and snuggly.

Yes, it’s that time again, time to reflect on the past year, re-evaluate my life, shape my goals and ambitions to the changes that have occurred over the past year.

Who am I kidding? I am not going to sit around on my birthday reflecting! I am going to drink coffee and watch ER while snuggling my baby on the couch!!! I will save reflecting for 33, I hear 33 is a good year for reflection.

Break up a violent argument! (Ha, ha, HA, NOT!)

I heard a big fight outside my house as I tried to use the bathroom alone for the first time all day. Two women and a man were yelling in increasingly frantic spanish, while a baby screamed. Then suddenly the baby went silent.

Why look, I can navigate our stairs really fast when motivated to do so!

Outside, I asked if anyone needed help, only to be reminded by Devon that they were arguing in spanish.

“Necessitas Ayudas?” I asked/yelled.

“Si! Si! Telephono la Policia!” responded the most frantic of the women. I told Devon to do so as the man began to walk off with the baby, the frantic lady following as close as she could and the other woman dragging the stroller behind her.

The police showed up fast enough to make me happy, and were interviewing the people before they made it halfway down the block.

I am so certain this experience will lessen my inexplicable yet completely palpable anxiety.