Sunday, November 21, 2010

If you've ever had a cat, you'll understand.

So the child really REALLY likes to swing. We get to a playground and he runs up to the swing set yelling "wing! wiiing!".

This is Payne's face while he's swinging.

This is Payne's face when asked if he's done swinging.

So, clearly, he's generally reluctant to get off of the swing. He set a new standard of resistance on Saturday though. I told him he was done swinging because, well, my arms were about to fall off and if I slow down he yells "No! Puss! (push)" at me (nice unintentional insult there). As I started to pull him out he engaged the first level of defense by clinging to the chains; totally normal, and slightly reminiscent of a cat being dragged out of its hiding place, no? THEN he went into hyper resistance drive.

I feel the need to point out that I'm short. Exceptionally short. The baby swings at most parks are about chest height on me, so you can imagine it's difficult for me to heft my 27 lb child that is already over half my height over my head (even under normal circumstances), which is what's necessary when getting him out of the swing.

So, hyper resistance drive involved him splaying his legs while they were still in the swing holes. You know when your cat doesn't want to go into its carrier, and it pulls the mammalian umbrella trick? Throws out its front and back legs and grips the edges of the kennel opening? My kid did this while also clinging to the swing chains, and squirming uncontrollably...while I was trying to lift him over my head.

At one point I had the screaming ball of rebellion nearly upside down, trying to essentially shake him out of the swing. Even that didn't work because of those stupid expensive toddler shoes with the non skid soles. I'd been battling valiantly for so long an old woman started to step forward to help me. That's how much of a weakling I am.

Fortunately, just before the concerned bystander intervened, I managed to bend his knees and break the feline padlock he had on the swing bottom and haul him out, still screaming. Hooray!

My souvenirs in this little adventure were burning forearms and a sweaty polo shirt.

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