This is a post sponsored by Livie and Luca. I don’t do many of these, so I hope you all like this. Because the shoes are cute, right? Also, really awesome.
Late one night, as the baby screamed “Mamamamama!” from his room, I turned to my husband and asked. “On a scale of one to 10—10 being dead right now—how much does the baby want to kill me?”
My husband paused. We could hear more shrieking. It was three in the morning.
“Maybe somewhere between a five and a seven? It’s hard to know.”
I got out of bed and rocked the baby. He was teething and refused to be put down. So, for the next three hours I slept on and off in the chair in the nursery. The next morning, I was basically dead and the baby spilled my coffee. And I know, science tells me that babies are not actual trained assassins, but I am not convinced.
Since turning one year old in July, the baby has made it his mission to destroy me and then himself, in that order. Once, I lost him for five minutes and found him in the dishwasher gumming a butter knife. A few weeks ago, while we were playing outside on the front lawn, he found a discarded cigarette butt and shoved it into his mouth. He screamed and bit me when I tried to rescue him.
Then, while I was on the phone with poison control, he scooched a chair up to the counter. Climbed up and grabbed a knife. As he waved it frantically in the air, I listened to the poison control woman’s instructions (“Babies have a surprisingly high tolerance for tobacco…”) and wondered how exactly one disarms a baby with a knife. If I grabbed, he might cut someone. But if I didn’t get it away right now, someone would die. Probably him. Do they train for this in the FBI? Because, “Drop your weapon or I will shoot,” does not work with a baby. I know, that was the first thing I tried.
Eventually, the knife slipped from his hands and went flying across the room. The poison control lady assured me everything would be fine (I didn’t tell her about the knife. Is there a knife hotline? I might need that.) But it wasn’t, really. Once my husband got home, I ran to the store for some whiskey.
I have since learned how to disarm a baby with a knife. (Sneak up behind him, grab his wrist with one hand and the knife with the other. You are welcome. Learn from my mistakes.) But he is still finding new ways to kill. He has bruises from knocking a whole shelf of library books onto his head and a cut on his chin for insisting that he could climb on the bookshelves. He repeatedly tumbles off our little trampoline, which I’m renaming the “$30 heart attack thing.” Right now our stairs are blocked off with an ottoman, a fisher price washer and dryer, a bunch of blankets and two baskets. He still finds a way to climb up.
But at least I’m still alive (for now) and I have whiskey.
A few weeks ago, after I told Dave about JQ trying to flip over the couch, he suggested we get the baby some shoes. Like real shoes. Because the baby’s toes were all scuffed up and he’s started asking, nay DEMANDING outside time. He does it like this: Stand by the front door and scream until we let him out. So, that’s fun.
Around that same time, Livie and Luca contacted me. They sent a catalog and I thought the shoes were freaking adorable. Honestly, they were a little pricey. But since I usually cobble my kids’ wardrobes together from hand-me downs, grandma gifts and garage sales, I thought it might be something we’d do. I really try to make sure that what I promote over here is stuff I would actually buy if no one sent them to me. And I can honestly say, I would. I so would.
The shoes are great. Easy to get on. Pretty hard core. And great soles for walking…because JQ is trying to walk now. Everytime he does, I push him over and start sobbing. So hopefully we can forestall that apocalypse. Ellis calls the Ruche her magic golden shoes and JQ hates taking his Grip shoes off. (He toddles around saying, “Sheesh, sheeeesh.” I think it means “Shoes.” Or “I will kill you in your sleep.”) But the shoes match everything (see above where I talk about our hand-me down style). And they stay on.
The powerful gods of Livie and Luca have offered you all a discount code (giveaways only benefit one person anyway, right?). Ready? It’s….
Next month, I’m buying E these boots. She straight up refused to wear boots last winter because they weren’t fancy enough. Do you know how many times I had to carry her through the parking lot in -30 degrees because she was wearing sparkle shoes and didn’t want the snow to touch her sparkle? Do you? No. I didn’t think so.
It’s too bad they don’t sell straight jackets for the baby, though.