We’ve ratcheted up the danger around here. Oh sure, we wear seat-belts and keep the toaster out of the tub, but in other areas we are Evel Knievel. RR is a daredevil. Now that she walks, she RUNS. She runs for the stove. She runs for the shower. She runs for the open back door that leads down one step to a concrete deck and then offers two choices. One, run straight forward, duck the taller-than-toddler railing and hurl yourself over the seven-foot edge. Or two, launch yourself down a set of seven steep concrete steps onto the pavement below. Guys, she craves escape. When she is locked up…or say…off the floor…we leave the door open for the dog but then have to remember to close it again. When there are two people manning the doors and the baby, there’s a lot of GET THE DOOR! GET THE DOOR! I’VE GOT IT ALREADY!!!!
Aside from the aforementioned open oven door, she also takes head-shattering at the playground very seriously. For some reason, our good city saw fit to equip several public playgrounds with mulch to soften falls and then they built concrete curbs to contain the mulch. Maybe your seven year old respects the curb. My 16 month old considers the curb to be a golden mecca. She races toward it the moment I so much as blink. If she could talk, she’d be saying mama watch me smash my skull on this slab!
We’ve also had to implement a “Concrete. Hands!” admonition. She’s getting used to the idea that when we’re on sidewalks, pavement, parking lots, etc. that she has to be holding one of our hands. She considers this to be an infringement of her constitutional rights and bucks against it as though it’s a circle of burning fire upon her brow. But, she caves because she loves us and because we have a grip of steel and thereby we are saved from her choice to careen into unforgiving asphalt.
We’ve been playing in the basement more frequently. Although it’s a pretty open space with very little to impale herself upon, she takes every single chance to creep up the stairs when we aren’t looking. In fact, just yesterday I was sewing her Halloween costume (you guys! I am so amazed I stitched an actual sleeve!) and listening to her babble behind me. Before you ask, of course, I blocked off the stairs. The volume of her babbling didn’t change a smidge as I sat there. I assumed she was still where I put her. In fact, she was not. She was creeping over the floor to the stairs, gradually increasing her volume so that it sounded as if she was still sitting right next to me, all the while peeking back over her shoulder, stairs ever closer.
Also, she stands eye level with the dog’s anus. That isn’t going to end well.
So sooner or later, we’re going to have a scraped knee. But it will be because we knocked her down while saving her from being decapitated by that steak knife she just slashed trough the air.