The post where I am a bad mother.

Turns out a mobile child is much more work than one who stays where she is put. 

Last week, MJ and I were visiting in the front room as the Bug toddled about.  She wandered down the hall and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. 

Now, the house we live in is more than 50 years old.  The drawers located just inside the bathroom door are more than 50 years old, too.  They are deep and heavy, and they don't roll on any sort of track.  It's just a bunch of big wooden boxes inside a big wooden frame.  They stick, and they're hard to move, especially full of all the crap that inevitably ends up inside rarely used bathroom drawers.

Bug must be a body builder in secret, or something.  Using her tiny biceps, (I'm imagining this part, of course, because it all happened in the blink of an eye while I was... elsewhere) she managed to wrangle one of the drawers open just enough to block the bathroom door from opening.

Just so we're clear:  my thirteen month old locked herself in the bathroom.  ALONE.

There goes that Mother of the Year Award.

Kim and I sat outside the door, looking at each other helplessly.  Imagining her pulling a curling iron onto her head or drowning in the toilet, I took a quick trip to Idiot-ville.

"Sweetheart!" I said, in my best sing-song voice.  "Could you please shut the drawer?  Push the drawer, Bug!" 

Right.  Like my baby is going to contemplate that set of instructions and then happily call out, "you're right, Mama.  I'll shut it right now!" and give the drawer a neat little bump with her hip.  Right after she finishes composing her text message and writing in her journal.

The hinges on the door are on the inside, so we couldn't just take the door off altogether.  I might be a complete doofus when it comes to rescue ideas, but I wasn't so dumb as to consider shattering the tiny window from the outside and showering my little peanut in glass shards.  I was out of ideas, and getting ready to hop on the train from Idiot-ville to Panic City.

Aunt Kimmi to the rescue.  She wedged a butter knife through the open crack and jammed it into the wooden side of the drawer. Using it like a sideways lever, she scooted the drawer shut just a hair, and then pulled it out of the wood and wedged it in again.

Thunk, scoot.  Thunk, scoot. 

And finally, finally, the door swung open.

Care to guess what Buggy was playing with in there?  Hmmm? HMMM??

Give it a real good guess...




Oh yeah.  A RAZOR. 

It was a new one with a cover and everything, but still.  STILL.