Everyone is having or has recently had a baby. Not everyone, I am being hyperbolic, but it sure feels like it. For about a month or so I even thought I wanted to have another baby. It probably took a good 5 weeks before I snapped out of it. What was I thinking? I had three of them. They have turned out pretty well, but I am not in a baby state-of-mind anymore. It's a wonder relatives and friends with small children even come to visit us anymore.
Our house invites disaster at every turn. It's like an evil funhouse for babies and toddlers. That outlet with five million things plugged into the power strip looks very inviting with it's glowy, red light. The steep hardwood stairs with the too far apart railings, is just the thing for fun and death. Even our furniture is dangerous. A child could get lost in the wide empty space left after years of the sofa cushions shifting and shrinking into itself. All our tables have sharp edges and there's the lamp that flickers at even the smallest nudge. (I really should get that checked out.) I'm not even going to mention the raised brick section of the floor where the wood stove used to be. Man, thank goodness that is gone — there's no telling how many babies would die because of that thing.
|Disclaimer: Not an actual picture from my house.|
Now that I think of it in terms of unfriendly, I see the atmosphere isn't great for little ones either. My daughter's disagreements could wake the dead, there is a lot of killing on multiple video game consoles and I am just generally not tolerant of little humans who aren't mine. There, I said it — my dislike of other people's children may have grown into a dislike of all small children. I am in teenage and pre-teen mode now, there is no going back.