A Baiter? Me? No Way.

We play a game with the Maharaja. It began when we were trying to get him to move. See, he doesn’t understand that lifting his ass will assist the whole crawling thing. So currently, we are stuck at the GI Joe type-of-crawl, where he uses his elbows and palms and sort of drags himself here and there. He is very adept at it now, but a month ago, he would stress and strain and then just get lazy, roll over and coo to the ceiling. So well anyway, I would wave, from a yard away, a remote control, shiny steel spoon, cell phone or sometimes a knife (no, that was just to make you sit up and take notice. And yes, we do buy toys for him. Tons of them in fact but he doesn’t give a s**t. Mommy-Daddy’s precious money dude! That is so coming out of your first pay-check) He would somehow reach the point of prize only to find out that I’ve moved it further out. Now that he has mastered this weird method, we just do this to get him really tired before bedtime.

So last weekend we had friends over. They watched in dismay at what I was doing, at one point the woman was going to get up and call Child Services but refrained (politeness or fear (she knows of catfight), I don’t know). But 15 mins later when the Maharaja was fast asleep in my lap and I rose to go and put him in his crib, she followed me upstairs. "Is that OK?" she asked. "Oh yes" I said, going on to tell her how another friend of ours gets her toddler to climb the stairs till he falls asleep. Very effective. But I would refrain when his eyes are half closed and he is leaning on the banister. Making him do it one last time then? That’s just heartless. My guest swallowed hard.

So we were in the nursery and the King was down. I tucked him in and looked up to see my friend staring at the wall behind the changing table. "You like?" I asked. "I used oil, so the colors are bright." She turned around and said "It’s in your psyche. You’re a baiter. I see the underlying theme now."

Whaat?

Later that night, I told MrG. "I’m not a baiter, am I?" I asked all sweet and gentle. "No, of course not. They don’t have kids, they don’t get it. You’re a good mom." he assured me, equally gently. "Awww" I go. We switch off the bedside lamp.

"Baiter."

"But I’m really tired"

"Baiter."