Mrs. Blackwell and I completed a months-long saga today when we signed all the papers and closed on our new home.
This was the first time either of us has owned a home and while I could spend literally thousands of hours talking about what a confusing, terrifying, frustrating process that is, I won’t. This blog is about babies and kids and fun stuff — like baby proofing a new home!
|Pictured: Simpler than the home buying process.|
The new measurements of our place mean that, once again, we’re on the hunt for new baby gates to ensure he doesn’t take up body surfing downstairs as a hobby. Then we’ll need new cupboard guards so he doesn’t start making cocktails out of the contents under the kitchen sink.
Ultimately time will tell who knows what else we’ll need to ensure the little guy stays out of trouble.
And outside of packing and unpacking that’s the second-biggest objective during a move and settling into a new home— keeping the baby out of trouble.
For, no matter how good a baby is, no matter how great a baby is, no matter how laid back, how pleasant, how much they smile for strangers, how well they hug or how they can name all 50 states, each and every baby is guided toward danger like a magnet.
By most accounts I was an “easy” baby and toddler for my parents. But that didn’t stop me from sneaking into the garage and starting my dad’s lawnmower when I was barely three years old. And that was in the days before all lawnmowers had safety handles that had to be held down — start the mower and it just went until you reached down and turned it off.
True to form, I started the mower, heard the big “ROAR” promptly got scared and ran out of the garage to the safety of the nearest hiding place. I can only imagine the thoughts going through the minds of my parents between hearing the mower and finding me.
|The boy watching his idol Nick Walenda. (Note|
who is holding the remote control here.)
When it comes to trouble, my boy is no different.
For instance, he likes the dishwasher. But he only likes it when it’s open. Fair enough, there’s a lot of interesting stuff in a dishwasher. But why is it that his interests always guide him toward the knives?
And not just the butter knives.
Then there’s our bed. He won’t sit in the middle of the bed for too long before venturing toward the edge — about at 30-inch drop to the ground below. And while he often lowers himself feet first, he’s also a fan of letting it all hang out and dropping off face first.
Then there’s the stairs; he likes them and the baby gate people have earned their money. Enough said.
The new house is bigger. Has more stuff and, in general, more opportunities for Master Blackwell to ply his particular brand of mischief.
This of course is the glass-is-half-full version of bringing baby into a new home. The upside is he’s got more space inside and a bigger backyard outside. And our neighborhood has scores of little kids toddling around.
I guess I’ll talk to some of the neighborhood dads about how they keep their kids away from the shiny, exciting dehumidifier.