9 August 2013
I have to say, I’m feeling pretty good about how I’ve childproofed our kitchen trash can:
Our recycling bin fits nicely underneath our kitchen sink behind a pair of the super-solid magnetic locks that we have guarding all of our cabinets with sharp / dangerous / breakable / annoying-to-have-messed-with items, but after an otherwise successful baby gate rearrangement campaign last weekend I hadn’t figured out a good way to stop Theo from pitching his toys and other valuable items into our kitchen trash and sometimes fishing them back out again. (“Let him throw them out — he’ll figure it out!” I’m sure some well-meaning readers would advise, except one must remember that Theo has the approximate attention span of a gnat and a faulty understanding of cause and effect. He would actually just incrementally throw away all of his toys and all of our possessions and never figure out where they’d gone.)
It’s tempting to buy one of those fancy $100 trash cans with self-cleaning anti-fingerprint protective technology and pneumatic shocks and touchless fingerprint scanners, but $100 (or $190? Really?) doesn’t guarantee any kind of bulletproof childproofing technology that Theo couldn’t figure out during the course of a happily focused afternoon. Ergo, our ancient El Cheapo trashcan is now on the other side of the baby gate, just within an adult’s arm’s reach, and it couldn’t be working better. For now.
We’re also still carrying on with our massive old rear-projection TV, which works well because (a) we barely use it, and are not particularly tempted to buy a flatscreen; (b) it is stable and has a plastic screen, which is pretty resistant to the tender ministrations of toddlers; and (c) probably isn’t worth much money (see (b), toddlers, tender ministrations of). This makes (a) particularly fortunate, because it is often difficult to make out the action faintly happening onscreen beneath the smear of fingerprints and open-mouthed tongue splotches that normally ornament its surface.
Despite the weirdly opaque handprints on the right having been around for the better part of a week now, it wasn’t until today, when Pete suggested that I count the fingers, that I realized something was up. 18 months, and I just realized that my son is a polydactyl.