The Stuff of Parenthood: On Baby-proofing and Beyond -or Not

So we finally put up the stair gate. It took Dave a couple hours of chopping (with a hand saw) and some creative reconstructive surgery (not to mention purchasing a dremel) but it's up.





And now downstairs is pretty safe --as long as we keep the bathroom and pantry doors shut (storing Ollie's food in the pantry was our solution to that particular dog/baby dilemma) and so long as Peter doesn't figure out how to open the kitchen cabinets... Okay. So we've barely begun.

This morning I decided to let Peter play upstairs with me while I blow-dryed my hair (instead of letting it dry into the wild formations that it normally does). Peter was interested in two things: Ollie's kennel and the bathtub. The kennel wasn't such a big deal -although we will someday have to teach Peter that it is not in fact his own personal cave- but the tub was.


You see that little step that Peter would delightedly stand on, and then, not knowing how to climb off, would try to sit back on? You see my attempt to cushion the tile? You see my further attempt to block off the area entirely using our loveseat? (Who has a loveseat in their bedroom? I know.) Well, it worked. Except that then Peter discovered my nightstand and in the whole of two seconds (while I was trying to coax a terrified Ollie out from behind the loveseat - see my post on One Good Way to Traumatize Your Dog) he had managed to slice his fingers on it (you know that thing babies do where they put one hand inside the drawer and then slam it shut with the other?) yeah...


So, it starts feeling like a losing battle. But then, maybe that actually describes a lot of what goes down in parenting. And maybe all parents experience that ever-present voice in the back back of their minds saying, "your baby will self-destruct in five, four, three, two..." Then again, it could just be me.