Someone in Colorado Has Our Baby

Something odd has happened since our road trip to Colorado. I think that we may have brought back the wrong kid. We went there with a 14 month old little baby who had become somewhat predictable for Shawn and I. We knew the sounds of his little feet slapping in an unsteady rhythm on the floor while he was trying to master walking. We knew that we had about 45 seconds after he was out of our sight before we needed to be there to check on any trouble. We knew that he would pause at the edge of a sidewalk that stepped down to hold our hand or get help getting down. We grew to expect smiles almost anytime we gave him food such as broccoli, whole wheat noodles, bananas, etc. We felt confident that when we would lie him down to change his diaper, that he would tolerate the minute and a half that it took to do that job.

Somehow when we drove over the line that signaled we were changing from the Mountain Time Zone to Central -- magic occurred. And not the sort of magic you wish for...not the type in the movies where maids are turned into princesses, or men get the ability to fly. This was the type of magic that makes me think that we actually left Roanin in the mountains and returned with someone who looks exactly like Roanin but who is a different child.

Roanin no longer walks. He runs. And I don't mean he skips a few steps here and there. I don't even mean he runs a little here and there. I mean the kid runs everywhere. SO, as you might guess -- the 45 seconds that we previously had to follow Roanin into the next room to see what he was up to has now been reduced to about 6 seconds. And we have found out the hard way that if one is adventurous enough to wait 7 seconds before following the rug rat -- one pays dearly (ie. people you haven't talked to in years being randomly called on your cell phone; magazines being ripped apart; stairs being mounted; shoes being tossed into the trashcan; electrical cords being tasted; etc.). Roanin now will attempt any step...approaching it going up or down....on his own. He has not quite figured out that steps come in all different heights, and that they are not all that predictable. And the diaper change....ahhh...the diaper change. This has taken on a new meaning. In fact, I think I will now rename the diaper change to "the incredible game of twister between a husky little boy who is screaming like he is being beaten and his poor parent who is attempting to simultaneously attempting to not get kicked, hold down a torso, avoid flying pee or poop, make funny faces in order to trade tears for giggles, and unstrap cheap little stickers on the sides of the cloth that will ensure success in life (at least for the next 2 hours until we do this all over again)".

So...maybe all parents have experienced this magic. Now I am just wondering....if this is true, why did no one send out a memo?