My Little Mountain Goat

The word “kid” takes on a whole other meaning when referring to my youngest child. I am living with a mountain goat. He’s only 13 months old and he is climbing everything in sight. I can’t leave him alone for five minutes because he is shoving furniture (across carpeted floors, mind you) together in order to climb places that no 13 month old should be.

Yesterday, I was trying to fix lunch and I heard him making a Mmmmm, Mmmm, Mmmmm, noise. Usually this is reserved for situations where he has wedged himself into a corner and has gotten stuck (I’m not kidding about the moving furniture thing–it’s like living with Bam Bam) and he needs help to get out. So I figured he was wedged between the highchair and the dining room table again.

When I went to help him out, I nearly died of a heart attack. He was up on top of a very tall, very narrow table–and right at the edge, no less. He’s a smart baby and realized that he had painted himself into a corner–so to speak–which is why he was calling for help. Thank God he is smart enough to know he might fall if he tried to back up and has fallen enough to have a healthy respect for how much it can hurt. I have perfected the art of supressing my startled shrieks of horror and calmly…..but swiftly, crossing a room to pluck him from the jaws of danger.

I also find him sitting on his high chair tray on a regular basis–he uses it to look out the window. I’m quite certain that doesn’t fall under “acceptable use” of the chair. This is not an easy undertaking either, but he manages to do it in the blink of an eye. I have yet to actually witness the whole process, because I put a stop to it when he starts using the footrest to boost himself up and over the edge of the tray.

I would put the highchair in the highest position to prevent this–but then he tries to climb up the back and I have no doubt he would eventually figure out how to do it. Since having the chair higher would make the fall more dangerous and since the idea of him climbing up the back turns my hair white, I leave it in the lowest position and keep plucking him off of it and telling him “NO” in my sternest voice.

I know it is only a matter of time before I find him standing at the top of the basement steps because he climbs part way up the baby gate on a regular basis. Once he figures out that he can hook his leg over like the bathtub (I found him sitting in the bathtub a few days ago), he will be in the kitchen in a flash. We don’t really have a way to block off the top of the steps safely, so we gate the kitchen off instead. I am going to have to find a gate that will work in that location.
His nickname is “Light’nin’” because if you open the door to a room you don’t want him in (the bathroom for instance) he materializes out of nowhere and practically knocks you down to get past you. He literally has a take off straight from a Scooby Doo cartoon–where his feet start moving before his upper half and then his upper half snaps into place when it catches up.
I’m glad it’s warming up out there finally. I need to get this kid out of the house and burning off some of that energy.