Thursday, October 20, 2011
The older our son Paul gets, the more clever he gets, and the more we realize what is left to be baby-proofed. (Thankfully, we'll be all set up for Camille and when she gets older, she won't stand a chance getting where she's not supposed to.) Two days ago, Paul demonstrated how he can unlock the dead bolt on the back door; we already knew he could unlock the knob, and turn and open it. So, I immediately informed the hubby, and on his way home from work that day, he bought the baby-proof plastic knob covers that make it nearly impossible for anyone to open the door. I don't know why these things are called "baby" proof. Everyone that's tried opening the door since we put them on, has pretty much failed at the task. And, I'm talking about full-grown adults here. If we have to escape our house from a fire, I'm not sure we'd get out in time. But, hey, at least I know Paul won't be able to open the door to just anyone, especially when I'm pretending I'm not home if a solicitor comes to the door. But then again, I won't be able to open the door either. "I'm sorry, I'd just love to buy a magazine subscription/support your candidate for office/be witnessed to, but I've baby-proofed myself inside the house."