I know peanut’s hearing is fine. He often hears a train or a fire truck in the distance well before I pick up any sound waves. But, he certainly has toddler selective hearing. If the words “stop” or “no” or “don’t do that” come out of my mouth, they apparently ride some different auditory jet stream that bypasses my child entirely since giggling and a continuation of the behavior tends to follow said requests.
But some times, I know some parenting messages are getting through.
Scene: Saturday night. We had called High Heeled Sis so that her beloved nephew could sing to her on the phone (a new skill of peanut’s). Her hubby’s in L.A. working at the X Games, so we thought she might like some humorous company over the phone. While chatting, she tells us that peanut’s Uncle “Nonny” is actually sitting atop the BMX half pipe assisting in some scoring. After serenading my sister, we pop on the set to find peanut’s uncle.
The hubby and I were able to spot him, but I think peanut was a little skeptical that the flash in a ball cap and white sunglasses was really his uncle. He was, however, enamored with the bicycles and would narrate the event: “orange bicycle high,” “bicycle fast,” etc…
In case you’ve never actually watched these crazy games, there tends to be at least one injury per event where you wonder about these people’s sanity. Particularly because they tend to look half dead on the half pipe only to eventually spring up and insist on immediately doing again what just brought them within inches of their mortality. WHAT?!
Of course, this happens while we are watching. The specific incident wasn’t all that bad. It was a bad fall off a bike that was careening through the air, and apparently the biker knocked his noggin a bit on the way down, but it appeared that it was in a helmet protected zone. I held out hope he was going to be fine, but told peanut that the man fell off his bicycle and had an owie and that’s why mommy was never going to let peanut ride a bicycle like that.
Sure enough, the rider was fine and ended up doing some crazy moves that even impressed me (who has no idea what a 540, full out, Superman, whatever means) mere minutes after shaking it off.
Later, after peanut’s bath, in our typical narrate the day portion of the bedtime routine, peanut pipes up:
“Uh-oh bicycle. Owie head.”
That’s ride, peanut. Owie head. Let’s hope that sticks. Oh, I’ll support my child to let him be whatever he wants to be and try whatever he wants to try (within reason) as he grows up. But it certainly serves my own interest if he grows up not wanting to try behaviors that cause me sleepless nights and ulcers.
We’ll know if he really heard me the next time he sees his bicycle out back — will he run back into the house in fear or hop on trying to pop a wheelie while giggling maniacally?
Knowing peanut, I think I already know the answer. Better pass the Pepcid.