I tell you this not to be braggy. No, this is just background information for the forthcoming story. My toes can pick up pretty much anything. They've always had this gift, but when I was pregnant and too large to properly bend down, well... that's when my talent flourished. You name it, I can pick it up with my toes. Laundry? Challenge me! Coins? Not a problem! Books? Piece of cake!
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| See that foot in the background? It has a gift. |
This gift really came in handy earlier this week.
Jack decided that he would like nothing better than to be held. All. Day. Long.
If you've ever held him, you know that you can't just hold Jack. He doesn't just sit there, being held. He wiggles. And squirms. And tries to see whatever is behind him - even if what it behind him is what was just barely in front of him. It's quite tiring.
On this particular day I had quite a bit to do. Lewis and his students were putting on a program and I had to get dinner made in time to bring it to him beforehand. I had finally gotten Jack distracted with toys enough that I could get stuff done.
Jack decided he'd had enough of the toys the very second I had germed up my hands in raw chicken. He's splendid with the timing and all. There wasn't much I could do with chicken hands, so I just let him cry and fuss at my ankles, while I cut the chicken as quickly as I could.
Meanwhile, Jack gave up on trying to crawl up my legs and instead turned his attention to my iPad, which was playing music on one of our barstools. So there I was, with germy chicken hands and a baby perilously close to destroying my iPad by pulling it off of a relatively high surface. What's a girl to do?
Enter my talented toesies. I was able to successfully move the iPad from the barstool on to the counter, out of Jack's reach (an elbow or two may have been involved in pushing the iPad to the requisite height).
Yep. My toes push me over the border into Super-Mommydom.
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