The Boy Who Cried Wolf

I wish I'd thought to take a picture of Gage before removing him from the edge...instead my first instinct (after guilt, of course) was to snatch him up and place him safely someplace else. What happened, you might ask? First, let me confess that I simply cannot respond to every child's request for attention, every tattle, every hunger pain, or whim. I find it emotionally impossible! So, sometimes, when my children 'cry' I don't come running unless there is that urgency (you know what I mean) in their voice. I heard him calling my name, as he does hundreds of times each day. His calls grew a bit louder and I must admit he started crying--but the cries were not particularly urgent. I did not rush to his aide. When there was silence once again, I simply sighed relief and carried on with whatever it is that I do all day! Silence, however, isn't always a good thing when it comes to children. So, I went looking for him. Teetering on the edge of the kitchen counter, belly down-bumm up, sound asleep, was my Gage (18 months). A few deep breaths or another wiggle, he would have fallen off--rude awakening on a hard kitchen floor! It was no surprise-- finding him on the countertop. We remove him from it many times a day. He can open the peanut butter, loves to drink right from the honey bear, and helps himself to cereal and bread often (am I painting a clear picture of what kind of mother I am? Fourth child--what more can I say? Does it help to say that for Gage, I simply sweep the remnants of meals into a pile and leave it there, hoping he'll choose to eat the Cheerios he dropped during breakfast over climbing chairs and scaling countertops to find a snack) Who am I kidding? He's a boy: brave, wild, daring, and hungry! No, it was not a cliff or the roof top, but my parenting is questionable nonetheless. Sometimes I wonder if 'nurturing' is really in my nature.