When Baby Goes For a Walk

A bimba (riding/push toy).

Yesterday, we were at a wedding.  I got back at 11:00pm (Yitzchak took Shlomo back earlier, since the bride was a friend of mine, and the groom is not yet a friend of his).  We went to bed about 12:30, after cleaning the house a bit.  When we woke up late at 7:10, it wasn’t such a surprise that I was still tired.  Then someone called my cellphone, and Yitzchak brought it to me, destroying any chance I had to sleep.  So after Yitzchak got up, gave me his pillow and Shlomo’s stuffed duck, and told me to try to get more sleep, I readily listened.  It was tough, especially with a baby who wanted to play with me, but I managed.

At about 8:51, right when I had finally fallen into a deep sleep.  I got a phone call – from Yitzchak. He said, “Chana, I just wanted to remind you that you might want to lock the door so Shlomo can’t get out.”  I mumbled, “Uh-huh,” and thought to myself, ‘I can hear him playing, he’s fine; and besides, he knows that the door is usually locked, so he won’t bother trying.’

Fast-forward to 9:30.  I wake up halfway, and realize it’s quiet.  I comfort myself that I would have heard the door open (later I realized that I usually hear it close, not open), and I listen for a few seconds, and somehow manage to convince myself that I hear megablocks being played with.  Then I get out of bed – and realize the door is open.

“Shlomo…,” I call.

“Shlomo,” I hear someone calling down below.  “Is someone looking for a baby?”

“Yeah, me.”

“Where’s Shlomo’s mommy?”

“Here, apartment X.”  I realize that I will have to get dressed – I am still wearing a nightgown.  Over my nightgown, I throw a skirt, a blouse that I wouldn’t wear out, and cover my hair with a scarf that I don’t bother to tie.  I walk down to my bottom step.

“Where’s Shlomo’s mommy?” I hear again.

“I’m here, but I don’t have socks and there are men around here (remember, we’re religious Jews), so I don’t want to come down.”

“Ah, okay.”

“Shlomo,” I call.  “Come here.  Three, two..”  One of the students picks him up and brings him to me.

“Wow, thank you,” I say to her.  To Shlomo I say, “Uh-oh,” and he starts to cry – he knows he’s in trouble.

“He was almost to the street (= parking lot) when we saw him.”

“I was in the shower (okay, I wasn’t, but this is kind of embarrassing, and it explains why I look so un-put-together), and suddenly I came out and he’d opened the door and left.”

“Oh, wow.  We suddenly saw a baby, and we didn’t know whose he was..”

“Thank you soo much, thank you thank you thank you thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Thank you.”

“Have a good day.”

“You too, thanks again.”

Now, before you all hit me upside the head, you should know that we live on a college campus.  The same college where I studied, and am waiting for that piece of paper from, even though I’m finished my studies.  The people in charge did us a favor and extended our contract to cover this year, even though I’m not studying anymore.  Which means that “street” is really a small parking lot where all people do is look for a spot, park, and leave.  It’s also always overcrowded – so no one goes fast.  And that in that parking lot are always lots of students, who walked outside for some fresh air.

Also, Shlomo is good at going down stairs.  How he got his riding toy up – I don’t know.  Maybe he left it up here.  How he got it down – he threw it down.  I’ve done it enough when I have stuff in my arms, and I’ve seen him do it, too.  All I know is, thank G-d we live on a college campus.  All the men here are married, mostly with their own kids, too; all the women are either married or dating, and so baby-deprived, baby-loving, or both that they wouldn’t hurt him.  And if I hadn’t shown up?  They would’ve taken him to the people in charge, who, incidentally, we happen to be close with.  Thank G-d.

He went in time-out, had a talking-to, and had to stay in the playpen while I went to do laundry (an awful punishment, btw).  And the riding toy?  It somehow appeared right outside the apartment.  I’m sure it didn’t drive itself over, though.  Yitzchak is kind of proud of him for the accomplishment (I understand, but these are old accomplishments), and I am emotionally wiped.  I guess that’s why I’m blogging this.  So, thanks for listening.  I’m glad that  G-d gave me this little ‘slap’ while we were living on campus, and not in a regular neighborhood.  I don’t even want to imagine – oh, G-d forbid.  That is such a scary thought.  No, I’m not even going to think about it.

One thought on “When Baby Goes For a Walk

  1. Pingback: My Glasses | Little Duckies

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