I took stock of my bruises and cuts – there are a lot. Apparently, to my children, I am a human jungle gym. I became most aware of my status of human jungle gym at last week’s Toddler Time hosted at the library. While other children sat patiently for the “teacher” to start the “class,” my kids decided they needed to burn off energy. At first, they just wandered around the room, while I sat with one eyeball following TW, the other Richard.
Then for some strange reason, Richard decided to take a running start and leapt into my arms. Not to be outdone, his brother decides to do the same thing. It doesn’t stop there. TW starts pushing me, I slip and fall on my back. The boys tumble on top of me.
“Oh, no!” I say making fun of the situation, “Mommy fell down.” That was a mistake. A huge mistake. Until class starts, they decide they will play the game called: lets see who can make mom fall to the ground first. Richard is climbing on my back. Timothy keeps taking running leaps into my arms. They run circles around me, sometimes stepping over my legs, sometimes stepping on my legs.
To the untrained eye, this “playtime” could really be somebody being roughed up by some sort of toddler street gang. I can sense other mom’s rolling their eyes at my little cave babies and me. But once class starts, they settle down on my lap an listen to their stories.
I take a breath. This is going to hurt later. And wouldn’t you know it – it does!
Then for some strange reason, Richard decided to take a running start and leapt into my arms. Not to be outdone, his brother decides to do the same thing. It doesn’t stop there. TW starts pushing me, I slip and fall on my back. The boys tumble on top of me.
“Oh, no!” I say making fun of the situation, “Mommy fell down.” That was a mistake. A huge mistake. Until class starts, they decide they will play the game called: lets see who can make mom fall to the ground first. Richard is climbing on my back. Timothy keeps taking running leaps into my arms. They run circles around me, sometimes stepping over my legs, sometimes stepping on my legs.
To the untrained eye, this “playtime” could really be somebody being roughed up by some sort of toddler street gang. I can sense other mom’s rolling their eyes at my little cave babies and me. But once class starts, they settle down on my lap an listen to their stories.
I take a breath. This is going to hurt later. And wouldn’t you know it – it does!