When Ryan and I were dating and living in Idaho, we would go over to my grandparents' house to visit them. My Grandpa had passed away shortly after we were married, so some of my last memories with him were from those little visits. This is what those memories consist of...
I remember a particular time when Grandpa was sitting in his usually spot on the couch in his usual clothing attire, a plaid shirt. Ryan and I were talking with Grandpa when Grandma came whipping into the living room on her electric scooter. I believe the chair was fairly new because her steering was still a little erratic. Anyway, as she came ripping across the living room, we heard Grandpa let out a big painful yell. He hunched over to rub his foot that Grandma blindly ran over. He told her to come over and to stick out her hand. He gave her a tiny swat on her hand. I'm not sure what was funnier, him scolding her, or her barely pausing in her tracks to let mumble a half-hearted apology.
On another occasion, we were over to their house for dinner. We were all sitting down and Grandpa had just taken a sip of his favorite drink, root beer. He smacked his lips and said "aaaaaaah, that's the good stuff". Unfortunately, his moment of enjoyment was painfully interrupted as Grandma came wheelin' up to the table to join us... and then, another yelp of pain. Grandma, once again, ran over his foot with her scooter. Someone buy that man some steel-toed shoes, will ya?
That poor foot of his. It must have been so painful. Why am I sharing this story? Well, I've experienced a similar pain since I've become a mom of a toddler. My experience isn't exactly the same, but to be honest, I think it's equally as painful if not more. I don't know what goes through my toddler's head to think it's okay to come over to me when I'm sitting down, and stand on my bare foot. That thin layer of skin on top, gets twisted by that wide, husky foot of his and it KILLS!!!! And apparently me yelling "OFF! OFF! OFF!" doesn't get 30lbs off my delicate dainty foot any faster. It's one of the worst physical pains having a toddler has ever inflicted upon me. (First being the time I stepped on his tiny hot wheels helicopter in the middle of the night. I cried.)
I guess it's been a learning experience and as much as I like to think of Grandpa and me as a victim, there is some fault on our side. Grandpa, you should never have been anywhere near grandma's path while she was in her scooter. And for myself? Well, I shouldn't be sitting around the house unless I'm wearing steel-toed shoes.
My little Simon turned 8 months two weeks ago. Seriously, the second baby grows up faster. It's really not fair. Simon is by far my cuddle-bug and I just relish every time he lays his head on my chest and just sits while I rub his back. He's so content in my lap, in fact, that he is still holding out on crawling. That's okay; just one less child to chase after and one less child to be tearing the flesh off the top of my feet.
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