Black Eye Blues

So, last night got my first black eye. It was bound to happen sometime. You know, the battle scars of a rough and tough toddler. My Mama is all freaking out about it, but really it's not that bad. I mean, you should have seen the other baby. Well, actually, there was no other baby...just me, and the  wooden arm of the futon.

See, it's not THAT bad.

Dada seems to think it is somewhat my fault it happened. See, I used to have quite the taste for the foam edge guards they tried to put on the futon arms for my protection. Is it MY fault that they were just the night consistency to help my aching gums? Is it MY fault that the adhesive used to attach them to the futon was so delightfully sticky and fun to touch? Is it MY fault that when they tried to hold the foam edges on by wrapping them with duct tape, the duct tape itself became just too much of a tempting challenge to try and destroy? Is is MY fault that duct tape is no match for a teething toddler? I mean, how could they put such tempting material right in my reach, and NOT expect me to play with it/eat it?

Me at 8 months old, ever the rebel.

So last night, I was just playing around, and I slipped, and I banged my face into the previously protected arm of the futon. I totally took it like a tough guy, though, I only cried into my Mama's chest for maybe 10-15 minutes.

But now, I really think they are getting paranoid. They keep putting locks on everything, and removing all my favorite climbing toys, like chairs and shelves, and even putting gates on the windows, which totally obstructs my truck viewing. How's a kid supposed to have ANY fun?

Scary Frog Boots

Yesterday, Mama bought me rainboots. Apparently, she wanted something to keep my feet dry in the rain so I could go splash in puddles or something. I ask you, what fun is splashing in puddles if you are trying to stay DRY? I personally think that shoes are overrated and that I should be allowed to run around barefoot all the time. You know, like if I lived in the jungle with all the animals, I wouldn't need any stupid shoes. They interfere with my climbing anyway. It's much easier to climb on top of the coffee table and dance around in circles if I'm not wearing shoes. 

But I digress. Anyway, Mama bought me these boots -- I guess she thought they were cute or something, but OH MY GOSH THEY ARE THE SCARIEST THINGS EVER. She says they are supposed to be "froggie" boots. I like froggie things. My froggie adventure buddy backpack is the coolest guy ever. But to me, they don't look like froggies. They look like some sort of demented snake monster emerging from the earth to eat me alive. I mean, just LOOK at these things. The eyes look like they alone could suck my soul out of my little body, and that smile...

But instead of listening to me while I tried to express my discomfort at the boots from the most evilest place you can imagine, she tries to put them on, thinking, as she says, that I'm just being "ornery". I am never "ornery". When I am discontented, I simply state my mind. So, she doesn't have the acumen to determine the context of my very distinct types of whines. Excuse me for only having a few hundred word vocabulary in your pedantic language. I'm working on it. 

Anyway, so she puts the boots on and I'm screaming and screaming because I think they are eating me from the foot up, and she takes me outside and tries to demonstrate splashing in a puddle, and then I finally kick one of the boots off, and she tries to put it ON again, and I'm like, MAMA MAMA MAMA, but she just keeps trying to talk to me like I'm being irrational or something until FINALLY she takes the things off and puts on my regular old shoes. I couldn't calm down until Dada hid the evil rubber demons out of sight. And then we went on a rather pleasant walk. WITHOUT the stupid boots.

Then of course, scientists that they are, they later had to test if I was REALLY afraid of the boots. As if all the screaming wasn't proof enough. I was having a nice time, playing with Mama, when Dada comes in holding THE EVIL RUBBER DEMONS! I screamed and ran to Mama, trying my best to get away from those horrible things before they tried to swallow my soul again. I don't understand my parents sometimes. I just hope the image of those horrid snakelike smiles don't haunt me in my sleep...