Before I get into why my child is in this box I want to stop and take a moment to say THANK YOU. Thank you to everyone who took a moment to post a comment of encouragement on my post yesterday about staring in the face of criticism. It took me a little by surprise and I felt deeply humbled and extremely touched by your kindness. Some of the things you shared were so profound and simple and just freaking RIGHT ON. I want to let you all know that I HEAR YOU. I HEAR EVERY WORD and I am taking all of it straight to my heart. Your words meant so much to me to keep on keeping on. Thank you so very much.
So, why is #sirellisroy in a box. And while I am on that subject – why do children look extra cute in boxes and laundry baskets? I shall ponder that for years to come I think. It seems that as FTP (First Time Parents), Carl and I are discovering daily that the pro-active baby-proofing we have done around the house is just not going to cut it. Ellis’ little hands and fingers seem to slip into every nook, cranny, corner, drawer, cabinet – behind every curtain, under every bed, up on top of every counter (that he can reach) and, um, well… in every toilet when Mom forgets to put the toilet seat down.
The above box with very soft and rounded corners is replacing the ultra hip and cool coffee table I picked out last year in one of my ONLY forays into interior design. And, now – the coffee table will sit in our office to be enjoyed by Carl’s clients and this fluffy box thing from Big Lots (Carl’s favorite store!) takes up half of the living room. Ellis can bang away and chew on it until the cows come home and there are no sharp corners to click his cute little head.
Knock on wood (although there is not much of that lying around anymore… our living room is basically, completely padded now), Ellis has not had any major bumps or bruises yet – but I know they are just waiting – brewing somewhere all together, rubbing their little mischievous hands together – and they can’t wait to surprise us so they can see my heart completely stop. I am terrified. Any crazy “bumps and bruises” stories out there? I mean, I am one to talk really… my dad ran over me with a sit down lawnmower when I was 18 months old… but that is another story for another day. #365things