2-2-98 Taming the world for baby
To ordinary people – those without a baby – vacuuming is a dull, necessary part of life.
But for our grandbaby, vacuuming is a daily adventure. Contrary to every childcare book that says babies are terrified of the loud noise of cleaners, the grandbaby loves it.
The carpet in my son’s apartment is a grape-colored, plush rug that shows everything that the 10 month-old drops. A couple times a day, her mother uses the upright vacuum with headlights to clean up the debris.
Her mother told me recently that when she drags the contraption out of the corner, our tiny, world adventurer and lion tamer perks up and stops everything she is doing. As the cord is unraveled and plugged in, the baby positions herself in front of the machine, reaching out to touch it, waiting for the noise to begin. At the first roar, the tot scrambles to climb onto the cleaner.
She grabs it, holds tight, shakes the handle, refusing to let go once she captures the wild, untamed vacuum cleaner. She defies the odds and places her head against the light in an attempt to bite the roaring electrical beast.
For her grand finale, she rolls off the cleaner and entangles herself in the full length of the vacuum cleaner cord, halting its movement, one again frustrating her mother’s attempt to keep the apartment clean.
In the amount of time that an ordinary person vacuums an entire house, her mother manages to vacuum the tiny space of the living room of their efficiency apartment.
With baby’s help, a relatively easy task has become a chore for her mother, struggling to maneuver the vacuum cleaner away from and around her child while cleaning the floor. Her child defies the experts who write that the most common item to terrify 10-moth-old babies, is a vacuum cleaner. Not this child – it is the highlight of her day.
The only thing this child screams about is anyone or anything restricting her movements. Because the vacuum cleaner tamer is walking and climbing, exploring the house, she encounters far more than she wants of the miserable word, “No.” She wants to climb everything. She tearfully protests when big people stop her from climbing Computer Desk Mountain to plant her foot triumphantly on the printer as she holds on to the monitor.
They do allow her to climb up the loveseat. After she tires of conquering Loveseat Mountain, she picks up a book, sits down like a proper little lady and flips through the pages of her picture books, chattering and gesturing as she reads to herself.
Sitting and looking at a picture book is one thing. Sitting strapped into a car seat is quite another. She arches her back and fights against yielding to its confinement. Inevitably, she is forced to surrender and be buckled into place. Once fastened in, she entertains herself or listens to her mother sing until she falls asleep dreaming of the day she will conquer the car seat monster as easily as she does the vacuum cleaner beast.