Harriet Houdini

Hi There!

Angry Baby is 21 months, but as far as she’s concerned, girlfriend is two years old.

Since moving earlier this Summer, Lover Fo’ Life and I have made a point to give Angry Baby her own space to play, run and enjoy throwing every single toy she owns on the floor, we converted our formal living room into one of romping. It’s simply called, “the play room.”

Like many formal living rooms, ours was designed to be open. L4L and I quickly got to work coming up with a solution to block off the room so that all toys and shenanigans could be confined to one sweeping space. Understanding that the babyproofin’ toddler time in her life is fleeting, we focused on solutions that were temporary, but sustainable for the next coupla years. In the end, we turned her play yard into a mounted gate, a big one.

Fast forward to last Saturday.

We had some friends over and were enjoying a swim when Angry Baby decided to crawl out of the pool by way of the steps, making a beeline for the safety gate once she was out.

“Are you done swimming? Do you want to go inside?”

“O-KAY.”

After drying my wet little butterbean off and feeding her a snack, I asked if she wanted to play with her toys and watch Sesame Street.

“Oh-kaaay! OK! OK! OK! OK!”

I set her down in the caged paradise, handed Angry Baby her blanket, put on “Elmo” aka Sesame Street, and went back to the pool. The way I saw it, I had a good 30 minutes before I was due back to check in on Elmo’s #1 fan.

I set an alarm on my phone to keep track of the time. Once back in the pool, conversations and swimming resumed. No sooner than 20 minutes later did one of our friends let out a startled chuckle…

“Uhhh…well, hey there little sweetie!”

It was Angry Baby, she was crawling out of the doggie door. So classy.

“Hi-dare!” (Angry Baby for “Hi there!”)

Seems our brilliant little solution for containment and contentment was a big ol’ bust. Turns out Angry Baby learned how to flex the 3 foot tall toddler fence just enough to climb over it. Mommy’s lil’ escape artist.

Yesterday I was enjoying one of my favorite parts of the day, her nap time, when Angry Baby awoke and began cooing. As I made my way to her room, a sinking feeling came over me. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it wasn’t good either, the specter of tension thickened as I approached the door.

Before I could open the door I heard a dull knocking, “thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud.”It was coming from the other side of her door.

I slowly turned the knob and cracked her bedroom open. I was met by Angry Baby sitting in the doorway, “HI-DARE!” she yelled, “HI-DARE! HIDAREHIDARE MOMMA!”

Angry Baby was safe and sound, but completely out of her crib. I can’t say I’m surprised, but I am sad the nights of knowing she isn’t going anywhere while I slumber because she’s locked in a baby bed cage, are over.

The parent game means constantly having to level-up your skills. Thankfully, these skills are gradually challenged, built upon and mastered. Tonight we convert Harriet Houdini’s bed into a “big girl bed.” Not because I want to, but  out of necessity. It’s incredible to watch her morph into a little person. But I’m also girding my loins for the nutkick that the terrible twos (and even worse threes) are going to be. Thank goodness you’ll be there front row to relish every horror and terror.

Congratulations to Angry Baby and her new found ability to scale, traverse and crawl through any obstacle in her way. I’m so screwed. Wait, let me rephrase that…my belongings are so screwed.

Look out y’all, she’s bustin’ loose!

To add insult to injury…homegirl freed El Rey from his dog crate this morning, just to show she can.

Bustin’ Loose


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