Escape Artist

Charlie can climb out of his crib. On one hand I am proud of him. No one taught him how to do this. He has such an independent streak. On the other hand, I am not looking forward to his newfound freedom. Escaping is useful for fleeing captors and quickening a prison term, but my nineteen month old son is not able to distinguish Mom and Dad from America's Most wanted or jail staff.

I should correct myself. Charlie can climb out of his crib handily. When he does it he looks like a gymnast dismounting the pommel horse. He has accomplished it twice before today. The first time was a few weeks ago. I was set on weaning him of his bottle before naptime. When I refused his request, he flew into a tirade. He became most foul; unappeasable. Nothing I did would make him stop screaming. I sang to him. He cried louder. I tried to tickle him. He batted my hands away. I didn't know anything about weaning a child of his bottle. I had no idea what a powerful addiction it is, although I should have. Empty bottles and nipples with coagulated dairy are strewn about the house like discarded syringes and spoons in a squatter settlement.

I know a little something about addictions. In my experience of giving things up, going cold turkey is the best way to beat an addiction. But whole milk addiction is different. For thirty entire minutes Charlie let me have an earful. I ignored him mostly. I think he tried to hurt himself by falling down so I'd pick him up. I wasn't going to submit. When Jill finally came home, I had extended my patience beyond its usually generous boundaries. To the crib we sent him. With the partially closed bedroom door muffling his yelps, Jill and I huddled and embraced at the end of the hallway. Actually we were praying for Charlie and each other, asking for God to relieve the tremendous guilt we both carried. In the middle of our prayer, God interceded. The house became eerily quiet.

That must have been when Charlie was in the air dismounting. He must have had superhuman strength. The next thing we heard was tiny footfalls against the hardwood floor. The escapist appeared dubiously moments later. When I asked him how he got out of his crib, he laughed.

After that we decided to put weaning off. It was just a week before boarding a plane for Muncie to visit family and we had no desire to battle with him on the plane. The second time he escaped, I received a call on my cell phone from Jill letting me know he'd done it again.

He has not had a bottle for 48 hours now. We completely cut him off. He's doing well. He hasn't even asked for it. It takes extra time to get him down, but he goes down without the bottle. The cold turkey tactic worked. Jill bought him some Diego sippy cups. Charlie has a Diego doll with an orange jacket and blue boots. The doll says 25 randomly recycled phrases. Diego says "Adios!" So does Charlie.