So tonight was Back-to-School Night for my son’s first grade class. We walked over, wife, me, son and baby and all was well for a bit. Son went to watch “A Bug’s Life” with other kids in the kid corral while wife, baby girl and I visited his classroom and heard from his teacher. Baby colored with the class crayons and was getting into it when it was time to go to the next part of the tour.
Things began to not go well at that point. With the crayons left behind in the classroom we learned just how into coloring she was. The wails began. Wife tried to placate her with a pen which I took away because crying thrashing baby with sharp plastic spear is not my idea of a winning combo. Wife went onto the next part of the tour while I walked baby outside to chill out.
Did not happen. Because now the crayons and Mommy were gone. Armageddon.
I tried a few minutes of bouncing and shushing and pacifier, but that all closed out of town.
I finally realized that we were not going back inside and since we only live a ten minute walk away, maybe a third of a mile, I start hoofing it with the Tasmanian Devil Baby in my arms. I figured I’d call my wife on cell and let her know once the eruption ran its course.
Which it did not do until we got home and I ran her a bath.
What I mean to get across here is that this 16 month old girl was shrieking and writhing and thrashing with all her power for a good 15-20 minutes while I carried her home, hoping a police cruiser didn’t come by and ask for proof that I wasn’t some Chester trying to abduct this baby after I had obviously killed her whole family in front of her.
I had to really hold on and adjust my grip multiple times in order to keep her from busting her head on the pavement and lurching back to her crayons wherever the Bad Big People had hidden them.
Try to remember the last time you went all out for any length of time, yelling and physically fighting someone non-stop, no holds barred. For me it would have been sparring in Tae Kwon Do class in college when my partner pulled a couple of cheap moves and I decided to shut him down. That would have been ten minutes tops. A more recent example might be when my sister-in-law decided to take a short-cut and climb up a wash to the trail above us in Griffith Park. My son decided to follow and I had to get after him to make sure he had someone to catch him if he slipped. Long story short, the ground was loose and kept running downhill as we climbed. If it was just me I might have bailed and slid back down, but about half-way up I realized we were in a place where trying to get back down safely with a kid was even more insane than trying to finish the steep (really steep) climb to the top. My heart was pounding in exertion and fear of what I’d have to tell his mom if our boy ended up with a broken leg or worse, all because I hadn’t been smart enough to stick to the trail.
We made it, but again that was only about a ten minute ordeal, even if it seemed longer.
That kind of all-out push just wipes out a normal person unbelievably quickly. Adrenaline rushes don’t last long enough, a minute or so and then you’re forced to quit or just gut it out and see how long until your body can’t go anymore.
My baby girl went 200%, warp 10, Up to Eleven for twenty damn minutes!
It was amazing and funny and a bit worrisome at the time, but right now all I can feel is pride at how tough she is and optimism knowing she can bring that kind of fight to the world.
I pity the Stupid Boys and all the other future roadkill that gets in her way.
My daughter kicks ass.
