Perhaps it's a boy thing (because I'm fairly certain little madam wasn't at all like this), or perhaps it's something else entirely, but little man has such an inquisitive nature that it feels as though I can't turn my back on him for a second. Although, needless to say, of course I do; he is the second child around here, after all. But since he's been on the move - which has been quite a few months now - I've had to make some serious adjustments around my home to compensate for the fact that he loves getting into things. And when I say, "things", I mean virtually EVERYTHING.
One of the most annoying adjustments, by far, I’ve had to make to date, as a result of little man's over-zealous attempts to explore, involves the kitchen rubbish bin which, up until a few months ago, I considered to be safe and happy sitting on the floor (next to the recycling basket) in a corner area of our rather small kitchen. The first time he became interested in it, I found him touching the bin-lining bag and, naturally, just assumed he just enjoyed the sound of the plastic rustling; at the time, I wasn’t too concerned. After all, I didn’t think he would be capable of actually removing the bin-liner bag so I wasn't too worried about the safety aspect.
But then, a couple of weeks later, I caught him sitting by the bin, with something in his mouth. And, upon further investigation (as I couldn't recall offering him a snack since the morning meal - which was over an hour earlier, mind you), I discovered that his small mouth was stuffed full of some cold, soggy toast, covered in a rather large dollop of milk-soaked Weetbix. That's odd, I thought, shrugging my shoulders half-heartedly. I wasn’t at all worried, at the time; that was, until I spotted the small pile - which contained remnants of leftover food scraps, along with some plastic wrappers and the like (ie. RUBBISH) - at his feet and realised that, although he was indeed filling his face with that morning's breakfast leftovers, the piece of toast, along with the mushy weetbix, had been put to rest into the bin when I'd done the big brekkie clean-up some time earlier. Therefore, as a result of this incident, I really had to try hard to make sure that, when the rubbish bin (yes, the bin that's designed to hold RUBBISH!!!) had rubbish in it, it was kept high up and as far away as possible from my very inquisitive little man.
After a while, I noticed that little man had not shown interest in the bin for some time, and I was feeling relieved – not-to-mention more than a little pleased - that his horribly revolting rubbish-rifling stage had passed. So I began to forget, every-now-and-then, that the first incident – the incident that saw my little man helping himself to leftover toast and Weetbix from the rubbish bin - had ever happened (I guess it was the HUMAN in me causing this), and I started to leave the bin on the floor in its normal spot again.
Just the other day, I left the kitchen unattended – hang on a minute. That sounds rather odd, doesn’t it? Please don't misunderstand me. I do leave the kitchen unattended quite often, and certainly don't spend every waking moment there, just to clarify - so I could tend to a few things around the house. I returned to the kitchen a short while later to find little man playing with the lid of the rubbish bin (it's got one of those flappy lids - not sure what it's called exactly). Anyway. My immediate reaction was to shout out, rather loudly, "NOOOOO!!", and take a giant leap in his direction so I could quickly remove the bin from the floor. After placing the bin on the dining table (not a great place for a rubbish bin, I know, but it's the only place within reach that's high enough to prevent my little man from accessing it), I then began to check little man's mouth for any food scraps and rotting fruit or vegetable peelings. Thankfully, I found nothing, and was happy to wipe my brow and mutter "Phew!" as I assumed, at that moment, that I'd made it in time to prevent another potentially disgusting incident involving little man doing his small bit for the environment (ie. recycling, or, in other words, EATING THE RUBBISH).
It wasn't until I used the bin later that day, as I was preparing dinner, that I realised what my little man had been up to. Because there, sitting on top of a grotty, discarded tub of yoghurt (probably the same yoghurt little man, or little madam, had eaten only half of for lunch that day) and nestled amongst some of the previous night's dinner – I’m pretty sure we’d eaten ghoulash or something equally as repulsive - was a small blue matchbox car. Needless to say, I was feeling pretty annoyed - annoyed with myself, more than anything, for being so lax and forgetting to keep the bin off the floor - and disgusted, so little man and little madam’s small matchbox car collection is now one less.
As for the bathroom bin, I've decided it's far safer (yes, safer) to avoid using it altogether. After all, I’ve grown tired of having to add, “pick up dirty tissues, used band-aids and cotton buds (probably quite dangerous in the hands of a baby) off the bathroom floor”, to my endless list of things to do around the place, thanks to my little man's rubbish-rifling habit. Now, if I have used tissues, band-aids, cotton-buds etc, I take the time to deliver them straight to the kitchen bin. That way, I only have one collection of rubbish I really need to think about guarding and monitoring.
The other bin that I now avoid using, as a result of my little man's determination, is the small bin in his room; before I realised that he had a fetish for rubbish, this bin was primarily used to dispose of his dirty nappies. Needless to say, the dirty nappies are usually delivered straight outside to the big green bin now, or, if I don't have time for this immediately (and quite often I don't), placed in the, now well and truly over-utilised, kitchen bin.
So, the next time you're visiting my place, and the smell of dirty nappies wafts into your nostrils as you're enjoying a cuppa at my dining room table – or perhaps, better still, you find that your lovely cup of tea has to share the dining room table with a revolting rubbish-filled bin - please spare a thought for the poor misplaced, over-used bin. After all, I’m certain that, before my little man became a rubbish obsessed fiend, it led a perfectly satisfied life on the floor collecting (and not having to share a scrap of) genuine household rubbish; the exact job it was brought into this world to do.
Thanks, little man, for reminding me that even rubbish has the potential to turn an ordinary experience, into something quite extraordinary! Love you!
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