I have a little explorer on my hands, folks. My very own Dora. And you know what? I’m so proud of her, even though it often means sleeplessness and a bit of stress on my part.
- Like when she put her hand in the toilet bowl to touch the water. I caught her just before she’d do the next thing that comes naturally to her: rub the water into her hair!
Dramatic gasp. I’m calm. I’m alright.
- Like when she got a hold of some of my raw potatoes and started systematically dumping them in the trash, just because she likes the idea of loading things.
- Like when she broke one of my blinds – probably in her quest to figure out how the darn thing worked.
- Like when she took off the baby-proof material I’d had all around our coffee table.
- Like when she broke all those board books as she tried to close them backwards. Hey, at least she tries to put them away properly after reading. Right? Right?
- Like when she took her hardest (read: noisiest) toys and threw them on the floor one by one, causing the hair on my arms to stand at attention. And then did it all again on repeat. She loved the idea that she could be experiencing such cause and effect. Me? Well, I’m a good mum. *breathe, breathe*
- Like when she took off her shorts and diaper at some point during nap time, did a number two on her bed, and fell asleep right there!
- Like when she hid some of my shoes inside the microwave of her cute little kitchen set and I felt like I was going out of my mind trying to find them!
- Like when she was able to ingeniously move her crib close enough to a set of drawers to systematically empty the content of each drawer.
I could go on with the “like’s”. The point is, while many of these exploratory activities cause me to periodically pull my hair out (not that I actually would. I value my follicles way too much), there is a part of me that admires her. That boldness, that willingness to risk whatever just to engage in research. Just to explore. Watching her, I see a little part of myself that I may have laid to rest over time.
We all should indeed be like little children. There are so many ways to do that, and this is just one of them. What am I saying? Risk making a mess (of life, of plans, of an area, whatever) just to discover another aspect of life that you never would have. Kill that perfectionist you, even if for half a day. Or, ok, for say, twenty minutes? (I speak mainly to myself here. shameface).
How about you? When last were you “messy”?