So no more babies in my house. Well, they’ll always be my babies but we’re way beyond baby-proofing. Unless locking up the beer and hiding the good chocolate count as teen-proofing. I listened to a colleague talk about preparing her home for the arrival of her little bundle and thought back to those days. At the time I thought I was pretty on top of things. In retrospect, maybe not so much.
Snap, Crackle, Pop. Even though it took me 10 minutes and a small hammer to pound them into the electrical outlets, those little plastic outlet plugs were no match for either Teen Spirit or La Principessa. They were able to pry those little suckers off with nothing but chubby fingers. It might take them all day but they did it. With Teen Spirit, I would find the covers suspiciously loose and him hanging out nearby guiltily scanning the room. Eventually he would create enough of a diversion so he could dislodge the plug. I heard a snappy crackle and turned to see a very stunned little boy holding a butter knife. Thankfully not hurt and very angry at the plug. La Principessa’s poker of choice was a tiny metal barrette she’d yank from her hair as if she were brandishing a hidden prison shiv.Despite a few rounds of Sharks and Jets, I was able to stay ahead of her.
Cornered. Our tables had rounded edges for the most part but still I was constantly trailing Teen Spirit to be sure he didn’t poke an eye out by cruising into anything. Until when he was 5 and had a Super Grover-type moment tripping over his feet, sailing across the room, like a stone skipping the surface of a pond. What stopped him was a face-plant into a hard plaster wall. Score: tie. Wall: lost a chunk. Boy:baby tooth swinging in the breeze.
Risky Business. We have a little help with the house cleaning – thank the lord. Our helper is a bit zealous with buffing the wood floors. As in, she practically Zamboni’s the place with Pledge. Every few weeks, the call to dinner looks more like Apollo Ohno speed skating through the inside track. Even the poor beagle wipes out from time to time.
Mount Midoriyama, here we come. La Principessa could climb before she walked. Onto the dining room table, the kitchen counters, the back of a chair. But how was she getting that high? Chairs were too heavy for her to push. Instead, she would stack and interlock plush toys as if she were building a lovely grey slate garden wall. Except she was creating a precarious, teetering pile. That she would scamper up American Ninja Warriors-style to reach her goal. Only once did she actually fall, bouncing back from the counter onto the teddy bear pile. DIY baby-proofing.