Eaten Head First By Baby

As I'm tired of my child finding dustballs and cobwebs to eat, and chimneys to hide in, since she started crawling and standing, I made the executive decision on behalf of the impoverished committee (of himself and myself) to spend our limited funds on a baby walker.

It's big, it's bright, it's colourful - if you close your eyes, it's almost neon silhoutte is emblazoned on the back of your eyelids.

Let me give you some advice and a challenge to ponder on, you D.I.Y.'ers and extreme sport enthusiasts.

Your goal - to assemble baby walker while trying to entertain and maintain a watchful eye on a very active 11 month old who's suspect DNA may contain 'Tasmanian Devil' traces or maybe 'Animal' from 'The Muppets'.

Your attire - Impractical shirt-dress, over 'groovy' bell bottoms and big ass wedge mules.

Your tools - In the box.

Well, let me give you the rundown of my trial run on this most gruelling task.

I upended the box, much to the delight of Rowan, who tried to stick her head in the five inch slot that had housed the frame of the baby walker. Realising I had limited time before she figured out her head really wouldn't fit in there, and as a result give her cause to cast her eye in my direction, I flung my shoes in a corner as a diversion, knowing she'd be distracted by the sound.

I pulled out the frame, which mercifully for the most part was pre-assembled. All I had to do was pop in a few bits and bobs and then I could fling her in there, and finally shave my legs properly, clean the bathroom, or maybe even have a cup of tea in peace.

I lay out my pieces like a pro, tick them off against the contents list, and line them up according chronologically according to progression of fitting.

MISTAKE! Rowan, the little magpie, spots all the shiny things out of the corner of her eye and starts to crawl in my direction.

I flake into popping the casters in their little holes in the bottom frame, knowing they're partly in, but that I have to use my weight/strength to pop them in with the aid of very handy balancing tool propped between the wheels.

Firstly, Rowan starts to pop the casters out of their slots one at a time, having a chew on each one (different flavours obviously) before discarding it to try another. When I get a chance, I level the frame on the ground, popping in the casters as instructed. Rowan, spots me doing this and decided my little balancing tool looks much tastier than the casters.

I use this opportunity to pop the discarded casters back in, then it's a race against time as I kneel on the floor over the frame, popping the casters in one by one with Rowan thrilled with the activity, is standing against me gurgling and trying to move the frame, casters and me.

She plops on her butt, and starts a tug of war with the frame, now fairly mobile and partially wheeled. I shake my head pulling the frame back saying 'no, no, no', she laughs, thinking it's a game, and starts tugging back in her direction.

At this point, I'm damp with sweat, I feel like I'm on a space shuttle countdown, and I'm exhausted from chasing after Superman's baby all day.

'AAAAAAAAaaaaagh' I give up, and flop myself in a 'bowing to Mecca' position over the frame.
'AAAAaagh' I get in reply, followed by baby laughs, and an allmerciful tug as my hair is being wrenched from my scalp. I try to move, but she's clamped on, gurgling an evil villain baby laugh, then she takes a mouthful of ponytail and begins to chew.

I am so weak from laughing, I can't even get up, and I have an urge to pee. My hair is covered in baby spit, I've got caster imprints in my knees.

Eventually, I do get it together, only to find that even in it's lowest position, her feet just about touch the floor and she can only propel herself backwards, so she wont get to use it for another month maybe if at all?

(She's 16 months now, so this is no longer an issue, just a resurrected account of the good old days - prior to her latest level of mobility that makes Spiderman look arthritic).