Somehow, Eddie knows when we're not likely to approve of something. The other day, I noticed that he was being unusually silent. Looking around, I discovered that he was behind the recliner, by the window, so I snuck over to get on the chair and looked over the back to see what he was up to. He was investigating the end of the blinds' pull-cord, which had gotten down to the floor somehow (they're normally hung out of his reach.) I don't think we've ever told him that those are off-limits—but he knew!
I suppose it's encouraging that he's already internalizing our ideas of good and bad behavior. And he's showing a lot of promise in the rascalliness department. As I watched him, he kept turning around the caps, then—struck by a sudden suspicion—he twisted around and looked up to find me watching. He knew just what to do: brazen it out. "Hi!" he exclaimed, with a grin.
We have two sets of lights in the bathroom—brighter ones over the sink, which we normally use, and a dimmer overhead one which takes a while to get going. I was in the bathroom with Eddie in the early morning, so I used the dimmer light for less of a shock. He looked perplexed as he sat there—he could tell something was weird. He looked around, then looked right up at the overhead light—he'd figured out what was weird! And from there, he turned his gaze to the normal lights—he knew how it normally worked!
Hmm. On reflection, this may seem less exciting if you are not a father up before the sun.
On the rascally front, Eddie likes to pull up on the nightstand in the bedroom, which is not allowed because the mirror set up on it is liable to fall on his head. Today, he was chasing his ball around and it "happened" to end up in the bedroom, so he had to follow it. I went in after him, and he was the picture of innocence. I picked up the ball and tossed it out of the bedroom for him to follow. He pointed after it. "Yes!" I said. "There's your ball! Go get it!"
He considered this for a second, but seemed reluctant to go after the ball. "Go on!" I urged him. Then he pointed at the nightstand. ("But, Daddy, I am really just trying to get to that.")
"No, you can't mess with the nightstand. Go get your ball."
At that, he pointed his left hand toward the ball out the door, while his right hand was still pointing at the nightstand. Here was a baby caught in the cruel horns of a dilemma!
Well, I helped him resolve his difficulties—by physically removing him from the room.
Babies!
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