Newsflash folks: staircases and toddlers do not mix. We did, finally, get around to baby proofing, though I have to confess that it's kind of a half-assed job. I'm ashamed to admit it, but there are a few things that still need to be done, such as bolting the bookshelves to the wall and putting a gate at the foot of the stairs. We installed a gate at the top of the stairs, as the Muffin Man seems to have some sort of obsession with attempting to crawl head first down anything that resembles a step, but I decided not to put a gate at the bottom because they are ugly and I didn't want to ruin the aesthetic of my living room. Besides, I was more worried about Noah falling down the stairs than climbing up them. Well, my friends, proving once again that first time parents know absolutely nothing, my son is currently sporting a giant goose egg on his head thanks to a tumble from the third step up.
When we started with this whole baby proofing thing, Noah wasn't even really crawling all that much. Oh, sure, he would drag his body along the floor in a sort of paralytic spasm, but he wasn't actually moving quickly on his hands and knees, leading me to believe that it would be entirely possible to keep up with him should he decide to climb the stairs. In my defense, I also wasn't pregnant and moving at the speed of snail, so it was a bit easier to keep up with him back then. I now have a crawling, standing, race-around-the-house child who thinks there is nothing funnier than seeing how quickly he can get away from me. While on the one hand I appreciate the (much needed) work out, it's also turned out to be a bit of a problem, as was brought home to me yesterday.
Tuesday morning I was sucking down a cup of lukewarm coffee while simultaneously praying that the caffeine would kick in sooner rather than later, when Noah decided to make his way up Mount Stair-verest. I, of course, hauled my giant pregnant ass off of the couch in order to follow close behind as a precaution against spending my afternoon in the Cedars Sinai ER. I waddled as quickly as possible across the length of the living room, Noah started maniacally laughing and, as he checked my progress towards him, lost his footing and took a head dive off of the third step up. He did a complete and total face plant on the hardwood floor, landing with a loud thunk, after which he began wailing and I began praying that my selfish desire for an attractive living room wasn't going to leave me with a brain damaged child. Thankfully, aside for an ugly bruise in the middle of his forehead, Noah's tumble wasn't anything that a few minutes of cuddling and a booboo bear couldn't fix. I, of course, haven't yet recovered from the incident especially now that my anti-anxiety coping mechanisms are limited (try nonexistent). Needless to say I'm headed to Buy Buy Baby to pick up yet another one of those hideous (and hideously expensive) baby gates. I've resigned myself to not having an attractive and stylish living room for another 18 years or so, and at least the blow is cushioned a little bit by the fact that I have a 20% off coupon.
image via My Safety Sign
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