With a baby crawling about again I’m reminded what a death trap our house is. There’s the choking hazards, the poisoning risks, stairs, fire, fury and four little beings hell bent on exploring each one.
First up there’s everything that goes in their mouths. Spotty Crotch and Boob Baby are determined to steal the MDs most choke-able toys. Extra points if there is no safety breathing hole. Poo Monster and the MD focus in on food related nasties. I nearly named this blog ‘Don’t eat that’ and I’m certain my neighbours think one of us is called ‘take-that-out-of-your-mouth’.
Boob Baby will wait for you to blink then head dive on to the slate flooring. I will always wonder what he could have achieved with the all brain cells he’s lost. Maybe I’m worrying about nothing, I did drop the MD that one time and she seems pretty well balanced…
I read a Facebook post a few days ago about a child that ended up in the washing machine. I can 100% see the MD putting her brother on a rinse cycle and it doesn’t stop there. A crayon, a spoon, a musical instrument, she can make a shank out of anything. If she’s not trying to break her brother she’s throwing things for Spotty Crotch knowing full well he will run through fire to retrieve that damn ball.
The dogs are determined to turn the stairs in to an obstacle race. The toddler being the obstacle. Door handles are no longer harmless objects. They all had to be panic replaced with knobs (snigger) after Spotty Crotch decided we were definitely hiding behind a closed door when we went out. Now he’s down one claw and I’m down £400.
All this combined with my ability to hurt myself doing the most mundane task (remember, get good neighbours) means we should probably get an NHS loyalty card and I’ve definitely paid for our vet’s last few holidays.