Over the past almost two years, it's become apparent that the road to heart attacks lies not necessarily with my health. It lies mostly with my son. He loves to prove that - over and over. Like when he was learning to crawl and insisted on doing stage dives off our bed, which is about 3 feet high. Or when he got sick at 8 months and we had to turn him upside down to get him to breathe again. I don't think I'll ever get over hearing him thrashing in the dark, then turning on the light to see him trying to scream while nothing came out.
He proved this again today by learning how to open the door. The front door. I was moving my car around to the front so that the furnace repair guy could get his van near the basement. My husband was talking to the furnace repair guy when I told him, "Hey, I'm going to move my car. Keep an eye on Ragsy and make sure he doesn't kill himself or anything."
So I run out, move my car and park it. As I was throwing on the parking break, a little person streaked out from behind a tree and ran by my car from the sidwalk down to the front door. I jumped out of the car and found the front door ajar and my little one hiding in the bushes next to the porch. I grabbed him (kicking and screaming - apparently he'd been having a fabulous time - bare feet and all) and took him inside and immediately started hunting for my husband.
He was there - just deep into a conversation with the repair guy and hadn't noticed our son's escape. When I told him, he was suitably horrified. We've decided that we'll now have to make sure we bolt the door from the very top as well.
2 comments:
One of the reasons I stopped watching ER was because it made me fear to let my kids do anything. Mom's must have a good healthy amount of fear, but sometimes it can be overwhelming. I've gotten lax here because the kids can't reach the outside door knobs, but when we get home there's the sliding glass door and I'll have to start watching them for that again.
Gah! Gaaaaaah! Horrifying. Now, where's my child?
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