I Kiss the Hand that Smacks Me

I've come to the conclusion that carrying around an almost-one year old on your hip all day is the equivalent to having sprouted a small, but mischievous and uncontrollable third arm. This little arm spends it's day reaching out to ensnare any passing object. I am no longer alarmed when large things come crashing to the ground directly behind me. I just know the arm did it.
For example, this morning while walking out of the laundry room, a large basket of neatly folded clothes jumped off the top of the dryer, dumping the formerly folded clothes all over the ground. And there was my little third arm, waving excitedly at all the action.

Have you ever tried to type an email while your crazy third arm randomly hits computer buttons? The results are quite interesting, I assure you. This is usually when I tuck the third arm under my chin in an attempt to pin it down for 15 seconds so I can not hit "Reply All" when I don't mean to.

This arm can also inflict pain. My little arm likes to grab hair. Most especially short people between the ages of 4-6, who like to follow me around and whose heads are right at my third arm's-height. My little arm also grabs my own hair, and/or earrings and so I spent a significant amount of time with my head cocked to one side, muttering, "Oooo oooo ooo!"

Sometimes, my little arm can be helpful though. It does a good job holding car keys while I load up groceries into the trunk of the minivan. It is also pretty cute and dimply. All in all, I think I'll miss my choas inducing havoc wreaking little third arm once it develops some common sense.