Here's my latest child-development experiment:
I see that Archer is about to hit his face on an edge or run
straight into a wall, trip on a toy or his blankie, take a tumble off
his Plasmacar
(which I'm obsessed with, by the way. I seriously ride that thing to
the bathroom every morning. It's better than walking, that's for sure)
and instead of running toward him to be of comfort I make a b-line
outta there. Out of the room, or the hall, or Archer's view, so when he
falls and looks for me to acknowledge his incident, I am nowhere to be
found. He looks for me, readying himself for tears, and then seeing
that I'm not looking at him, brushes himself off and keeps going about
his business merrily.
Every. Single. Time.
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