Thursday, July 22, 2010
There is no such thing as "baby-proof"
First off, those little stinking outlet plugs are flipping hard to get out. For adults. You have to have fingernails to pry them off (so Dads are usually exempt from the job) but then you either painfully bend your nails back or snap them off in the process. And the cabinet locks? After opening cabinets with zero resistance for three decades, it takes an as yet undetermined amount of time to re-train your body that it must open the door only a crack and press a little lever first. Maybe rats could learn faster, but the rats are probably well rested and have all the time in the world. So, after ripping the locks out from repeated attempts to simply open the door, we now have locks on only the dangerous chemical housing doors.
So, as annoying as these two safety precautions are, they are definitely (hopefully) safe for the Sweet Pea, since Mommy and Daddy have a hard enough time with them. That still leaves a whole lotta house. Do you have anything, ANYthing on a table or desk? The baby will dedicate her life to getting it and then trying to put it in her mouth. I recommend installing 5 foot high shelves throughout the entire house where you can set things down.
And your computer, does it have a mouse? Particularly one with the little red light on the bottom? Baby magnet. And every time baby picks it up and turns it upside down, you will be paralyzed with fear that the light will burn her retinas like those annoying laser pointer thingies.
Trashcans on the floor in any room? Neon sign flashing "Eat at Joes" as far as Sweet Pea is concerned. Toilets? Wet and Wild water park. Toilet paper rolls? At least 1 minute and 48 seconds of quilted magical fun (and at least 5 minutes of cursing, sloppy, re-rolling por moi). Just yesterday, while trying to run the flat iron through my hair and make myself presentable before leaving the house, I performed the ultimate in bathroom baby-proofing. Sweet pea refused, loudly, to be anywhere but in the room with me. So, there I stood, trash can on the counter, toilet paper roll stand hiding in the bathtub, one foot clamped down on the toilet lid as baby tried her very best to pry it open, ironing my hair. All for a trip to the store.