I’m afraid of grapes. And hot dogs. Mini blind cords give me pause. Basement steps; restless. And thoughts of unfenced pools? I can’t even talk about it.
Yesterday we put plastic up in the two doorways to the kitchen. Anyone who has remodeled does not harbor delusions of dust obstruction. It’s symbolic really… slow the dirt down. The only problem?
Nate is petrified. Of plastic. It’s been billowing a bit due to drafts from the open kitchen ceiling and floor. Last night Nathaniel couldn’t even taste his spaghetti he was so scared. He cried and struggled in his high chair to escape and needed an escort to get down the hall. James put on his shoes and walked him around to the kitchen so he could see what was behind the plastic ghost. We touched it. We reassured him. We yelled at it. Nuh uh.
He watched us eat dinner from the safety of the living room couch, peaking over the back. Probably imagining some monster would devour us at any moment.
I just recently read that logic and rationalization are useless, and little kids are not capable of facing their fears. Tonight he still had a tough time enjoying dinner— he only ate three pieces of Maui Wowie. He yelled, “Deedee, deedee!” pointing at the plastic and running to the safety of the living room. But, he did get down the hall by himself with some verbal encouragement and by creeping along the opposite wall and then running gingerly past.
Maybe tomorrow we’ll throw some grapes at it.