Short Stories, Written Essays

Infant Escape Artist

            When we are children, we don’t see things the way adults do. We may think we know everything, but we don’t. Seeing as we don’t always see eye-to-eye with our parents during these years, it’s not uncommon for us to do some pretty stupid things. Most of these things result in a lifetime of teasing and a good embarrassing story to tell that super cute boy or girl you wanted to date. Unsurprisingly, I was not spared from the stupid gene, and now, my tales for verbal torture are the subjects of every Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter family potluck.

            One specific blackmail tale comes to mind without much effort of remembering. Years and years ago, I once was a baby. I know, that’s not that surprising or blackmail worthy, but it gets worse. I’m not sure how old I was, but I was somewhere between the screaming for all my basic needs stage and speaking stage. That being said, I still slept in a crib, but I had been known for getting closer and closer to climbing that sucker in attempts to escape my cage of a bed.

            One fateful night, really late between the hours recognized by most as night and early morning, I woke up in the middle of the night. I’m not sure why, considering regardless of some people’s opinion, I have no recollection of the night. Anyways, I woke up, and I guess I was at it again, but this time I became fixated with the changing table next to my bed. I watched it for a while, and then began planning my escape with as much thought and cunning ideas of that of the average infant.

            I decided to go with the obvious strategy… climb. I was too large to fit between the bars of the crib, and I didn’t exactly have a shovel to dig my way out or something, so I ascended the bars. I stood up on my stubby little feet and legs, grabbed the bars and started trying to pull my weight up as high as I could. It took a few tries consistent with falling on my baby behind, but I managed to get over the railing. Then without further ado, I stepped forward toward that changing table…

Now, here’s when the smart gene that children do not seem to have in these moments would have been nice. As a child, I did not understand depth perception, measurements, and overall… gravity. I did not comprehend that there was a space about half a foot wide between the table and the crib. So I stepped forward into mid-air and dive-bombed face first… into a trashcan.

I screamed my little face off, crying and shouting for help. I wasn’t hurt or anything: I was just stunned and confused. In scampered Mom, Dad, and Eva to my rescue. I’ve been told that they tried not to laugh, but once they knew I was okay, they couldn’t help it; my feet had been dangling out of that plastic can kick and flopping all over the place. They picked me up and calmed me down, and I went back to sleep in no time.

Still, I definitely learned my lesson; I never once tried to get out of my crib like that again. To this day, Dad and Eva tell the tale to anyone who will listen. I would say in my defense that they couldn’t hold me accountable over that considering I have no memory of it, but I will admit my childhood mishap was pretty funny. And, I’ll let them tease me if they want because unbeknownst them… (Hehe) I have the dirt on them, too! 


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