Commit to the Carry...Or Else!

"I'm sure it's just a phase..." says every mom.

At the moment, we are in the "Carry Me Everywhere" phase.  G wants to be held when walking to and from the car, walking into any sort of retail setting, and mostly anytime he realizes his feet are on the ground.  But God forbid I should try to alleviate some of the weight being lugged around by my left arm.

Example: Entering Target to pick up some much needed "stuff": Upon entering the store, I asked G if he would like to push the cart or ride with his brother.  Neither option was acceptable and he began screaming "up there" which is G code for "carry me."

Instead of having a repeat of "The Great Smith's Incident" when I watched an almost 2-year-old G throw himself on the ground and scream in the most epic breakdown I have ever had the pleasure of being the mom of, I picked him up.

As I was wandering through Target, I randomly leaned my left arm on the handle of the cart, at which time, G grabbed my shirt and pulled himself back towards my collarbone.  When I removed my arm from the handle, he relaxed and let go; content to be carried.  A few moments later, I leaned my left arm again, and again he pulled himself back towards my collar bone.  Thinking it was just a fluke, I tried the same trick at Trader Joe's the next day and got the same results.  At home, I tried leaning on the kitchen island, and again with the grabbing my shirt and pulling.

And then it dawned on me...I wasn't Committing to the Carry.  How dare I pick him up and drag him all over the place and not truly commit to his full 26 pounds for extended periods of time?  How dare I try to alleviate the shaking in my elbow, the ache of my wrist and the wear and tear on my shoulder?  What kind of selfish monster am I anyway?

Pammy


Interjection by Charlie: Ugh! I know all about "Commit to the Carry!" When B was 2, he went through a horrible Commit to the Carry phase-- so terrible that I made my mother-in-law sew me a giant toddler sized sling. Yup, you read that right, I once lugged my fully capable of walking 2 year old around stores and airports in a sling, like some patchouli smelling hippie.

Toddlers & Tattoos

Right now, my two year old is rockin' a face tattoo that would make Mike Tyson proud. A self-inflicted, Sharpie tattoo, that is. On top of his face tattoo he has also given himself arm & leg tattoos. And my couch has some super rad ink too.

All of this occurred in the maybe 5 minutes in which I had the audacity to heed the call of nature. Apparently, that is all the time my Sharpie ninja needs to scale the kitchen counter, retrieve a permanent marker from the pen cup hanging on the wall, and then go to town on his skin/the couch's microfiber.

The BEST part? That shit won't wash off! We are on day 3 and it has merely faded (see below). So I get to be the mom hauling baby Mike Tyson around Target.

Toddlers are awesome.

--Charlie

(And btw, that Pinterest tip about rubbing alcohol cleaning microfiber? Yeah, doesn't work so well for marker, just fyi. On top of the stains from spilled sippies and grubby feet, there is now a haze of blue ink surrounding darker blue ink lines on my couch. I'm thinking the only thing that will help my poor stained couch is a blowtorch...)