July 17, 2015
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Little Man can climb the stairs…Now, ask me how I know this. Taking a day off work to enjoy his family, my husband was setting up the water table we inherited…a brilliant contraption, by the way… I was on my computer typing gratifying, angry keystrokes for my group project peer participation review. My husband excitedly opens the door, requesting the presence of our son. Then, I heard it, the most horrifying sounds any parent can experience…nothing. It was completely quiet, no giggle, no panting, no obnoxious clanking and rummaging through plastic toys in a hard bin…absolutely nothing. I call my son’s name with no noise for response, and then I notice the open gate that blocks the part of the house containing our stairs. I will refrain from naming the parent who left the gate ajar as protection from a small throng of bloodlust relatives appearing on our doorstep wielding pitchforks of the old country. Upon seeing him I can’t be completely sure, as I believe I felt the initiation of a brain hemorrhage, but the likely words that escaped my lips were those that could make Howard Stern blush. Oblivious, my little man sat looking at me from the top of the stairs as though it was his turn to tend to the laundry.