The time has come. Rylan is mobile. Which on one hand is like yay look at him. However on the other it's oh shit time to baby proof. Personally I hate the term baby proof. Mostly because baby proofing products are made by adults. We think with logic and reason. We see sockets and reachable cabinets. We see the obvious dangers and try to find the best way to make them not so dangerous. Can we really make anything baby proof? They have tiny fingers and curious minds. Ambition paired with unsteady legs. Disastrous combinations. They see things we can't when they are eye level with floor. The only thing logic and reason tells them is touch and or eat it. They don't think like us and we don't think like them. I swear those plastic socket caps drew more attention to the outlets.
We stand behind them. In front of them. Hover over them. Get down to their (eye) level. Cover corners. Secure furniture. Rearrange the house. Put up small gates. Block off stair ways. Door ways. Lock cabinets. Move cleaning products up higher despite the lock cause we know it is only a matter of time until they have cracked the code. We anticipate their next move and try to stay one step ahead of them. Ever ready to catch. Lunge. Grab. And yet despite our very best effort they get hurt. They stumble and fall on thankfully their diaper padded butts. They bump their heads on that one corner you forgot to cover. For god sake Rylan has even smacked himself in the face with a toy large enough to leave a mark.
This morning I was momentarily distracted by his brothers when he decided to pull himself up so that he was standing. Holding onto the toy box which we had pretty much mastered by now. And then something he has not ever done before... he let go. With in seconds his forehead was making contact with an open toy cabinet door. CLUNK!!!! I scooped him off the floor. Turned him around and there it was. Rylan's first official lump. His first real boo boo. And panic! I know really?! Panic?! This ain't my first rodeo. Not my first child to bump their head. Not the first cartoon-ish egg I have ever watched grow on a little boys head. Still a first for Ry. And anytime any one of them hits their head with an audible clunk and visible bump I get that instant tightness in my chest.
There is only one thing worse than the kids getting hurt. The kids getting hurt in the presence of their dad. He instantly turns into an overbearing triage Dr. Google. He gets more hysterical than them. Making them more hysterical. Walking them through a serious coordination tests. Shining a flash light in their eyes to make sure their pupils dilate. Interrogating them CSI style... How did it happen? How did you not see the wall? Why aren't you more careful? Are you nauseous? Tired? Dizzy? Can hear okay? Until the questioning turns to me... Why were you letting him run? Why didn't you grab him before it happen? Where were you? Did you actually see it with your own EYES?! You need to be more careful with them!!! And Finally... THERE IS NO MORE. RUNNING. EVER! YOU NEED TO CALL A CONTRACTOR AND TELL THEM WE NEED TO GET RID OF AS MANY WALLS AS POSSIBLE BEFORE SOMEONE GETS SERIOUSLY HURT!!!! I'M SERIOUS... DON'T LAUGH AT ME JENA! And he is serious. If it were up to him we would be living in an empty house with padded floors and walls with kids walking turtle outfitted in knee pads and helmets.
The fact is you can not possibly prevent everything. Kids get hurt. They get bumps. Bruises. And it is not your fault or your contractors. Little people are curious and clumsy and these things are bound to happen. That's why moms have magic kisses.
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