I always thought I wanted smart kids. I thought that right up until Lucy scaled the steps on the outside of the railing at about 15 months old, in an effort to get past the baby gate.
Then she started using her toy "activity table" as a stool.
This was useful as she could use it to empty my pantry so she could use canned goods as blocks.
Or she could use it to empty bookshelves.
Or she could use it to retrieve sensitive electronic equipment (like the telephone) from high places, and call Grandma and 911 all by herself.
I kept putting the mess higher and higher, and behind more and more locks, and Lucy kept getting better and better at climbing and getting past my locks. I always thought locks and gates were "baby proofing" but in my house they seem to be in the category of "mental stimulation."
Then Tommy was born. And then Tommy went mobile. And he makes Lucy look like an amateur.
At about 15 months old he discovered batteries. I was not aware of the extent of his discovery until I tried to turn on the TV one day and the remote didn't work. So I decided to change the batteries, and when I opened the battery compartment I found on AA battery and one AAA battery. Extensive searching revealed several other remotes and battery operated toys that had their batteries switched. I'm sure there are still more I haven't found.
My iPhone has so many passwords and locks that it takes me
several minutes to log on to it. But Tommy figured out how to make it
He has no fear, and his climbing skills reflect that.
This is Tommy on top of the table:
This is Tommy on top of the desk:
This is Tommy CLIMBING THE WALLS OF THE SHOWER:
This kid is going to give me heart failure one day.
But Tommy's stunt last night took the prize for sheer destructive genius in a minimal amount of time. I made soup for dinner last night. SOUP. From a can. Takes about five minutes of heat on the stove. Takes about 30 seconds to prep. While I was making the soup, Tommy was playing under the table. I knew where he was. I was checking on him. Harmless, right? Wrong. I hollered at the kids to go sit at the table because dinner was ready, then walked into the dining room to find Tommy sitting under the chair, holding the SEAT of the chair and several screws in his hand. When I walked in he looked relieved, concerned, and then burst into tears. "I broke it, Mommy." This is the chair:
Now what am I going to do with it? How do you child-proof a chair?!
I want smart kids. I do. But holy cow are they exhausting!!