Trogdor loves to crawl. He's so proud of his latest accomplishment and he has an uncanny sense of, and attraction to, every thing he shouldn't get into.
I was out watering my garden this morning (it's going very well, thank you for asking) when I heard the fly screen door shut behind me. Sure enough, there was little Trogdor opening and shutting the door with great joy. He was having a wonderful time but alas, I knew that the sad conclusion of this game would be crushed fingers unless I intervened. So, being the dutiful, doting mother type, I went inside and picked him up. Of course Troggers, being the 11 month old baby type, chucked a tanty. His favourite trick is to put both feet against me, as far up my body as he can manage, and push away. This time he managed to get his hands involved too.
So there am I, trying frantically to hold onto this baby who is absolutely hating me with all the power in his little body while my stomach and breasts are being pummelled and yet I know that to give him what he wants (variously to be let go or to continue playing with the door) would result in injury to him and I would much prefer he hurt me - because I love him. This all lasted for no more than 15 seconds until he collapsed against my chest, crying and needing comfort.
And as he glared up at me - totally not able to comprehend how I could be so cruel as to deprive him of his fun and beginning to nuzzle for booba at the same time - I thought "I bet God feels like this about us too".*
* A note to any theologians reading this blog - please don't bother teasing out all the inaccurate theological implications of this post. Or, at least, do it your own blog.
* A note to any atheists reading this blog - we don't agree. I'm good with that.
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