I was thinking about this post as I was cleaning up the kitchen. I was preoccupied with cleaning what I’d discovered to be a near-toxic blender and wasn’t really apying attention till I accidently turned it on and managed to just about blend my left thumb off. While you can’t see much of a wound let me tell you it hurts like hell.
Kind of ironic that I was thinking about how to protect the baby from the house (or is that the house from the baby) when I did it — perhaps I should start by protecting myself from this house.
While in whale-pose last night, S gestured over to our long shelves declaring;
“Well that will all have to go.”
Initially, I thought it was another one of her attacks on my alledged packrattedness, or another flight of preggy-lunacy, but she went on to explain that once the baby is here, he’ll be wanting to practise his shotput on anything he can handle — or at least try to handle — by dragging it off the top shelf by the power cable… hammer-throw anyone?
So short of nailing everything down, we’ll be needing to invest in high shelves and moving everything out of reach — oh joy.
But there’s always the tricky ones — I don’t think we can move the catbowl up high as that will confuse FatCat, and we certainly couldn’t have kitty starving to death, but no doubt Junior will be wanting to scoff down some of those delectable Whiskas… suggestions anyone?
I guess you just need to give in and let the shoes get tossed all over the place, but what about books, magazines — my precious piles of paper that I keep in strategic places throughout the house…
Maybe an easier solution would be to leave all the stuff down on the ground, and have some sort of caged-in basinet device that we could hoist to the ceiling…
If nothing else that would prepare him for the overhead lockers when we start flying with baby-on-board…