The Evolution of “No!”

It started as the most innocuous of sounds. Early into our adventure in parenthood, not wanting to be repressively rude to our new bundle of joy, we decided to simply emit a sharply audible, “aha!” whenever she immersed herself in perilous undertakings. Unfortunately, as the tentative wobble gave way to crawling and quick, duck-like movements our verbal direction devolved into a strong “Uh, uh!” fashioned like a glottal stop that would undoubtedly render immobile a galloping mule. At first there was timid acknowledgement of our excited utterances. Dropping whatever she happened to have in her minuscule five-pronged clutches, she would shoot a glance in the direction of the sound then scoot away to the safe heaven under the dining table. Following that with a honey dripping game of pick-a-boo was clearly an attempt to distract us from frenzied baby proofing of various corners and kitchen drawers loaded with weapons of mass destruction.

The now sure footed 20-month-old seems to have developed a strong filter for sounds that signify interference with her current state of happiness. She is the only two-footed being in my life able to repeat what I say, respond to it positively, then do the complete opposite in the span of five seconds. Spouses, friends or employees usually take a lot longer to carry out such complex communicative endeavors. In one quick succession, she would walk nonchalantly by, repeat “No, No, No!” or combine “No” and “Owwie” as a sign that she is aware of the imminent danger she is generating for herself. All the while she completes the forbidden activity with artistic innateness. If I happen to have her immobilized for a dinner session of hot-dog and noodles the, discourse is shaped quite differently. Silent disapproval of self induced, foie gras methods of food inhalation results in well-coordinated self-punishment. One crooked finger waved decidedly in front of her face, along with the sharp trio of “naw, naw, naw” is often followed by “baad, baad!” and slapping of the right hand by the left. Once completed, such corrective behavior is considered sufficient in her streamlined view of the world. Her interaction with her food is clearly the result of alien influence. Cheek stuffing with morsels of meat rendered unidentifiable or dart-like movements aimed at painting the Italian flag with carrots, peas and soggy buttered noodles is a common act of the dinning play.

Hearing and reacting to the now more complex but heavily negative phrases like “No, don’t do that!” is a matter of both auditory and cognitive development. Conceptualizing that potential hurt is what triggers our sharp expletives, she often stops. Momentarily, that is! While singing “no, no, no” she rhythmically opens and closes drawers, slams doors or dumps fistfuls of the dog’s food in his water.  The unflappable good nature underlying all her activity easily generates a halo of glowing innocence above her platinum blond curls. Needless to say, there is little recourse, especially when we recognize that her behavior is simply a continuation of exploratory development. Everything touched, tasted, heard, or simply witnessed, is processed and safely stored via quick firing neurons in an ever developing brain.      

One More Flop

A strange feeling seemed to permeate my foggy senses as I tried to wake up. I was trying to escape a hypnotically captivating dream of being back in school with mummified teachers, scowling mates and the smell of antiseptic cleaner clinging to the drab walls of comrade incubators of Eastern Europe. But, my nostrils seemed permanently sealed and my eyelids lacked any cooperative sensitivities. One eyelash at a time, my right eye gained some field of vision only to have it completely obscured in a split-second movement by a blurry mass. After what seemed like eternal moments, my nostrils opened up to welcome the full-on assault of a sweetly unmistakable smell. Half an inch from my nose was a round mass of a night’s worth of diaper-captured pee. In her latest campaign to conquer the domain of the parental bed, my 16-month-old daughter simply raised her tiny rear, pointed gingerly at my face and rested with her knees supportively tucked under her belly. All that, mid you, is done while fully asleep. My primordial response to correct the situation is instantly thwarted by the innocence radiating from the long curved eyelashes on top of slightly pink cheeks and a pouting lower lip.

That is a typical daybreak ritual. Regardless of when she finally falls asleep, she is up at 6:30am. Who needs an alarm clock? It only assaults your hearing, and you can disable it with a well aimed pillow or a sleep heavy fist. She on the other hand, lays on a well-coordinated siege of all my senses. If the diaper-in-the-face method fails to shock me into instant awareness, there follows a simple yet effective karate chop to the jugular. Shrugging that off only means more provocation… A chunky thigh starts twitching and slowly activates a muscular calf arching with the heel of a size 6 foot locked onto my midsection. Open eyes means defeat and acknowledgement of her triumph. She quickly jumps onto my stomach and starts practicing trampoline moves. And so commences a day of small victories, lessons in physical and verbal agility and endless amazement at how a 2 foot, nearly bald, partially toothed creature can rule my life.