Danger Will Rogers

Or should I say, Danger Pumpkin Brown. Although I don’t think that is what I put on the birth certificate, there were drugs involved in that transaction and, as it would seem, danger appears to be her middle name. Or more like a concept she has absolutely no appreciation for whatsoever (go ahead and add that to the list with reading and long division).

Anyway, I believe it says something about Pumpkin’s charmed (read: sheltered) infancy that she has no fear. Literally. NO FEAR. She is confident that no matter what move she makes, mommy or daddy will be there to catch her – literally.

I never realized the danger in Pumpkin’s utter lack of understanding of danger until she became daring and…in a word…dangerous. That happened, oh…about two days ago.

It all started on Maundy Thursday. I picked her up from daycare and got the news that she had been having some tummy issues. No problem I thought, a few extra changes may be in store but we’ll be fine. We went home and enjoyed our last evening with daddy before he left for Florida for the weekend, totally unsuspecting of the weekend we were about to have.

Good Friday arrived in all its quiet solemnity. I awoke before Pumpkin and made coffee. Hubby had left for Florida in the wee hours of Friday morning, so it was just us girls. After an hour of solitude, I went to peek in on Pumpkin and found the most pitiful sight I have ever seen. Pumpkin’s little head was propped up on her crib bumpers. She was fully awake but too weak to move and as using all of her might to keep her head above the various bodily substances that covered her PJs and her sheets (not to mention poor Mickey Mouse – the innocent bystander in all of this). Without going into much detail, it is sufficient to say that she went promptly into a bath, her bed was stripped, sheets and Mickey into the washing machine, and the entire house coated in a thick film of Lysol.

Now, as all you loyal Pumpkin fans know, she has had her fair share of illness. I fancy myself somewhat of a guru of ear infections at this point. In fact, I think I’ve even developed a psychic-like ability to predict them just by looking into a child’s eyes. Bring on your ear infected huddled coughing snotty baby – they are no match for me, my rocking chair, and my rendition of Hush Little Baby. But this – liquid projecting out of both ends of this tiny baby who is too fatigued to even cry – it was almost too much for me to handle. I got the house under control and immediately called in reinforcements – the internet and my parents.

Most of Friday was spent somewhere between in pain and indifferent. There were moments of half-smiles – mostly when the swing was put together by Pop – but other than that, it was a lot of suffering (both Pumpkin’s and mine). She would only sleep while pressed up against my chest. While I won’t venture to compare our ordeal to that of the Lord, it was certainly fitting for the mood of Good Friday.

After a mostly sleepless night for both of us, we awake to Saturday. On a scale of 1-10, with Friday being a 9, I’d put Saturday at a 7. There were actual full smiles and only one episode of simultaneous vomiting and the “other” while I was driving down the street (about 5 minutes after the picture above was taken). We even tried to watch Toy Story 3, but had to stop when she got overly excited trying to reach for the toy-characters. The sleep was better Saturday night…just in time for the Easter Bunny and, most importantly, the Resurrections.

Sunday we celebrated not only the glorious Resurrection of our Lord from the dead but also the minor resurrection of Pumpkin to the land of the living. Easter was wonderful and began her life of living on the edge. I guess she decided that life was short – who knows when another stomach bug will get a girl down – so better to live life to the fullest. Within 24-hours, she took her first steps, rode her first four-wheeler, and even stuck her tiny hand right up a horse’s nostril – all without an ounce of trepidation. While on the four-wheeler she would list from side to side, completely oblivious to the fact that she could be seriously injured by falling from this moving ATV. Same for the horse, whose teeth were as big as Pumpkin’s head – she went full fist up the steamy hot nostril without a second thought.

Since Sunday the risks have only continued to mount. Just last night I sat her and her Minnie Mouse in her baby rocking chair and taught her how to make it “rock.” She was having a great time thrusting her body backwards and forwards, giggling with the movement. I took her off the chair, placed Minnie in it, and ran to my bedroom to retrieve a video camera. In the thirty seconds (max) that it may have taken me to do this, I returned to the picture you see below. Minnie was face-down on the ground and Pumpkin had mounted the chair on her own, totally unable to turn around and sit down to resume rocking. I got to her just in time, meaning just as she tried to step backwards and sit down on what would have been thin air.

So what we’ve learned is that as her mobility increases, so do the potential dangers that surround her (unbeknownst to her, of course). Love and baby locks aren’t enough anymore, but through all of this and for the rest of her life, I hope she continues to believe that there is nothing for her to fear because her daddy and I will always be there to catch her when she is falling – literally or figuratively.