Why My Eggs Are All in One Basket...I Mean Bowl... April 13, 2008

Just when I think I've done the last of my "baby proofing" I, or rather Noah, will find something else for me to take care of. 

This morning Chris went to Bishopric meeting which left me and Noah alone from 7-8:15 to get ready for 9:00 church.  Noah woke up at 7:30, and then we spent a few minutes snuggling in the papi chair and watching "Tommy cheeky one" aka. "Thomas the Tank Engine" on PBS.  During the weekdays "Tommy cheeky one" is on smack-dab in the middle of Noah's nap, so he hardly ever gets to see it.  He loves trains lately, mostly thanks to Mason.  Well, time was ticking on and I needed to get going with the gettings ready, so I figured since Noah loves trains so much and hardly ever gets to watch "Tommy cheeky one" that I would be fine leaving him there in the papi chair while I took a shower and that he'd just sit there glued to the tv.  I even gave him a fruit roll up to add to the busy-ness factor. 

Let me preface this by saying that normally I lock Noah in his room with a bunch of toys to play with while I take a shower.  I do this to keep him safe and to keep me sane because he is so good at getting into things when I'm not watching.  Well, today I figured he'd be fine and I've started letting him play downstairs a bit more while I'm getting ready because he's getting bigger right?  Right.  After all, what is there for him to get into?  I've baby proofed it all.  Cupboards locked?  Check.  Dishwasher safety proofed so he can't even open it?  Check.  Dining room chairs locked up in the basement so he can't climb on the counters and fall off the table?  Check.  Even the pantry has a lock on it.  Well, I thought I was good to go.  NOT!

Half way through my shower I hear a big crash followed by Noah crying his "hurt/something-is-wrong" cry.  I grab a towel as fast as I can and run downstairs dripping wet.  Halfway down the stairs I notice something unusual and the cry is coming from that general direction: the door to the fridge is thrown wide open.  Then I notice the next thing.  Oh crap.  The eggs.  2 1/2 dozen of them.  Both containers open on the floor.  Eggs all over the place, lots of them having been exuberantly smashed and thrown.  Noah's sitting in the middle of a gigantic, gloppy, gloupy, slippery, salmonella-y mess.  And the crash I heard?  Probably him standing up to dance in it and then falling down because he looked up at me with a slightly worried, guilty little face and told me, "I fall" as I looked at him in complete still dripping wet and naked shock.

Anyway, by that point Noah had stopped crying and was distracted by the fact that I was so overwhelmed by his new found ability of fridge-raiding.  So that's why my eggs, or what's left of them, are sitting in a bowl in my fridge now.  That's why we're going to buy another plastic latchy, belt-buckle-that's-working-so-well-on-the-dish-washer, child-proofing thingy first thing tomorrow but this time for the fridge.

Luckily for me, Chris came home two minutes later to enjoy the full benefits of a scene like that.  Even better, and this just shows what an incredible man he is, he told me to go upstairs and he'd take care of the whole situation.  Smile.  That my friends, is true love.