After several weeks of packing and scavenging for boxes and searching for the tape we just had in our hand, we finally have all of our stuff moved into our new home.
It wasn’t a long move — about 11 miles — but nonetheless, we packed everything up as though we were moving across the continent. You can never be too safe I suppose and besides, who wants to buy new dinner plates?
|In fairness, we probably shouldn't have enrolled him in|
those "Hide & Seek for 1-Year Olds" classes.
Throughout the process of packing it was easy to keep tabs on Master Blackwell. Life proceeded as it does every other day except the amount of available items to grab, swing, slam, bang and drool upon diminished and the number of boxes to hide behind grew.
However, when the movers arrived and began picking up our life and transporting it, the dynamic shifted and the potential hazards multiplied.
From that moment forward we’ve been in a heightened state of awareness.
We can’t put up baby gates at the new house just yet because we use the stairs too frequently; with the amount of moving up and down we’re doing, it wouldn’t be safe for us.
And, as luck would have it, guess where Master Blackwell likes toddling off to the moment our eyes wander away from him?
Outside of the stairs there is the plastic. There’s plastic wrap, plastic bags, bubble wrap and huge box spring bags that all have to be accounted for and disposed of before the boy decides he’s found a new toy.
There’s drawers to keep closed. Boxes to be moved and heavy things to secure.
Unfortunately, the boy has not made this process particularly easy. In a best case scenario, two parents would be able to simply place their little one in a nearby play pen while they went about the business of setting up their new home.
|Mrs. Blackwell didn't go for my theory that the boy would|
stay out of trouble if "Mr. Fuzzy Bear" was watching.
Master Blackwell has demonstrated that he doesn’t particularly care for this approach. No sooner is he placed in his pack 'n play than does he begin to voice his displeasure — loudly, consistently and fervently.
I’m a big fan of the ‘crying it out’ strategy but sometimes it just doesn’t work and there is no “out,” just lots of crying.
Such was the case when Mrs. Blackwell and I attempted to move our big, rigid box spring — a piece of furniture you wouldn’t want to fall on an adult, nevermind a baby. We tried to cordon the boy off but he would have none of it so we let him roam and waited before moving the box spring.
(Interestingly, the box spring didn’t fit up our stairs. Neither our movers, nor Mrs. Blackwell, nor a friend of the family could figure out this puzzle, so we were forced to buy a split box spring. Just what anyone wants to spend a couple hundred bucks on — a second box spring, yeah!!!)
So progress moves slowly with the boy around but, fortunately we’ve had a couple of friends offer their spare time to distract him while Mrs. Blackwell and I work. Now, if we could just find a way to get these friends to spend all of their spare time for the next week, we’d be set.