The danger zone

I never fully appreciated our baby-proofed house until we went on vacation. Don't get me wrong, our house isn't perfect but we can let him out of our sight for 20 seconds and feel fairly confident that all is well. And if he does get into something, hey, it's our stuff. If he breaks it, we'll deal.

Not so on this trip. 

From the moment we stepped into my pop-pop's house in West Chester, the game was on. When did he get so quick? So curious? So adept at opening drawers/cabinets/doors/etc?

We couldn't blink without losing him or discovering something off-limits that was now in his clutches. He followed me into the kitchen, I turned around to put our bag on the table, turned back and voilá! He's got Comet cleanser in his hand from under the sink. Sneeze and he's pulling a cord from under a table. Bend over to pick up a cracker and look at that, he's on his way out across the yard. 

If only one of us was around, it was impossible to do anything. How can I make him breakfast if he's in and out of the house, browsing the pantry, discovering the trash can or heading for that crystal bowl? We had to shadow him constantly and boy, was that hard.

It didn't get any better during our stay in New Jersey, even though we managed to bring a few safety items. We successfully kept him out of the bathrooms, laundry room and in our bedroom with doorknob covers. Two strategically placed cabinet locks sheltered the most harmful items in the kitchen. But that still left so much exposed. 

Pots and pans, fine. Banging them on a ceramic floor? Not so much. The allure of the stairs was like crack to him. He couldn't resist unplugging things all over the house. More trash digging. We had to move things out of cabinets, hide things behind pillows. I'm sure my uncle is still wondering where the remote went.

It was such a relief to get home, walk into one room and let him stay in another. Granted, we still have to watch him closely, especially if it gets quiet, but those few seconds of freedom are priceless.