My son, the monkey boy

So Aaron, the elder of my two ankle biters, has learned a new trick. It's called, "Let's see how strong the old man's ticker is".

Saturday, as I was finishing feeding his little brother, I heard Aaron wake up from his afternoon nap. No problem. Put Johna-brat in the swing, get a sippy cup of juice ready, grab a butt-cover and some wipes, head in there and retrieve him. Standard.

However, today Aaron decides that Standard just ain't quick enough.

He takes it upon himself to climb the rail of his crib and gracefully lower himself to the floor for playtime.

Ain't much grace in an 18-month old.

KER-THUMP "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Let the Tachycardia begin.

I tear through the house, thanking my stars that it is a small house, and burst through the door of the nursery.

Only to see him standing there, shaken but unharmed, screaming his head off, looking at the crib like it was to blame for his current predicament.

No blood, nothing broken, not even a bruise. After about 2 minutes of Daddy shushing and cooing, he is his normal bumblebee self, ready to move on.


I did notice however that this morning when I went in to get him up and ready to head for the sitters that he did not want anything to do with rails on his crib. Instead he was standing in the middle, arms outstretched as if to say, "Daddy, I think you should handle the extraction this time, I seem to have flubbed it rather badly on my last attempt."