Branching Out – Evanne Ní Chuilinn on a Crash Course in Christmas with A Crawler

It started as soon as the tree went up, and it was the reason the tree came down.

The wee man was crawling backwards for what seemed like months. He would draw himself up on all fours and rock forwards and backwards before the legs would spark into life. His arms were too strong though, and he’d travel backwards into walls and sofas and whatever else was in his path.  For weeks, every muscle was spent in the efforts to reverse the process, and effectively stop reversing! The grunts and groans would have you believe he was competing in a baby iron man. In the end though, it was mind over matter. Flashing lights and shiny baubles, not to mention the myriad of tangled wires and pretty parcels scattered underneath. He saw it, and he had to conquer it. Our little man started crawling (forwards) on December 15^th, the day the Christmas tree went up!

From there it was open season. We must have visited a dozen other homes over the festive period and not one was baby-proofed. To put it mildly, I’m exhausted! I haven’t seen the inside of a gym or any side of my trainers in months, but chasing the wee man around tables and away from fireplaces has kept me (kind of) in check.

Now that he was on the move, he wasn’t long cottoning on to what could be accomplished. Apparently they make crash helmets for babies. Granted, it’s overkill, but I can see why they’ve been endorsed by some Mammies and Daddies. Since he started taking over the world one hallway at a time he has toppled over and walloped his head off carpeted steps, wooden floors and tiled kitchens. This business of pulling himself up is less adorable, more alarming. Yes, the rung of that chair will take your weight Seimi, but the tablecloth won’t. Neither will a branch of the Christmas tree. Cue the first of many tumbles.

As much as we marveled at our little hero’s efforts, we didn’t enjoy rescuing him from under the mass of bejeweled bulbs and baubles. We spent a few days in Kilkenny over Christmas and by the time I went back to work on the 28^th, the tree was safely tucked away in the attic again. Granted, the de-Christmasifying took place earlier than any house hoping to welcome Santa should allow, but we’ll make up for it next year when the wee man is better able to stand up for himself – literally.