I spent the past week in my parents’ mansion. It’s not really a mansion at all, but compared to our place, it is. Four bedrooms, two baths, formal living and dining areas, etc. I enjoyed it, but over the course of the week I developed a new appreciation for our very humble abode.
You see, Cool Baby has just learned how to open door handles. Or maybe this is just the first time we realized he already knew how to open door handles. For the latter part of the week, I mainly wandered from room to room trying to find CB as he opened and closed doors behind him to explore the vast expanse of the Cool Grandparents’ house.
Treasures awaited in rooms beyond my view–random computer chips just sitting out in the home office, hair gel bottles in the bathroom, important books and documents in the bedrooms. He could’ve done a lot of damage, but we left right as the novelty of breaking-and-entering was about to end and the destructive stage was about to start.
Our good old NYC studio apartment has one interior door–to the bathroom. That has been covered with a baby-proofing thing for months, so no problems there. The windows are secured with bars (which may be used for both keeping people out and keeping toddlers in, I suppose). All two lower cabinets are filled with tupperware, pots and pans, and other harmless items. Our two chairs fold to store behind the fridge where they can’t be used to climb for table dances. We don’t even have a couch for him to use as a diving board. The 200-something square feet do not allow for much long-distance running/hiding when it’s time to change diapers or clothes either.
My life is suddenly WAY easier. Who knew?
Sidenote to CB: Sorry to spoil your fun, man…I promise I’ll spend many hours at the park with you to make up for this. Thanks for being cool with whatever crazy situation you land in. Oh yeah, and are you telling on us?