Friends used to tell me stories about blinking and finding their kid half-way up the rock embankment, the one with the canyon and the rapids on the other side. I always thought, "Phew, at least I don't have to deal with that."

Yeah.

This stuff is kind of frustrating:

David has figured out how to turn the light switch on and off. And on and off. And on and off.

He can climb on the bathroom stool and reach the faucet. Which he turns on and off. On and off.

He's tall enough to knock the pizza box off the kitchen table.

And tall enough to pull the soap out the drawer and eat it.

He's tall enough to reach the switches on the gas stove.

This stuff is kind of scary:

Last Thursday, I was standing on the porch with the kids trying to account for the mittens and hustle us all off to school. I turned around as David tumbled head-first down the stairs. He's fine, totally fine, but I had this moment where I thought, "Should I lunge after him, probably miss, and put my back out, or should I holler for John and get myself down the stairs fast enough that I catch him before he hits the bricks?" I feel more guilty that I had time to think and I put my health over his than the fact that I let him fall in the first place.

Yesterday, David and I were coming back from an errand, and he was not happy being shoved into the carseat. He didn't want his book. He didn't want the toy tractor, but he thought the bar with the crinkly wrapper was fun to hold, and all was quiet on the way home. You know what's coming—the ripped wrapper, the bar minus a few bites, and chocolate all over the boy's face.

It would all be kind of cute except the bar had gluten in it. "Here, son, why don't you hold this rat poison; it's got a special sugar coating." One bite of gluten is not going to impede his growth or cause the brain damage that a lifetime of gluten will, but it's a bad risk. As we used to say in camp staff meetings, a poor choice.

Today I lost him. We were in the indoor playground at the zoo with every other parent who needed a place to go on a cold rainy Saturday. One minute he was playing with the water fountains while I scanned the covered slide for his sister. The next minute he wasn't. I had just read my friend's essay about abusers and abductors and 2 minutes to bring a store into lockdown. I was 1 minute away from panic mode when he reappeared next to those dang water fountains.

* * *

Yeah Rose climbed on stuff. Yeah we had to take the switches off the stove for her too, but she never fell down the stairs on my watch. Maybe because she never let me put her down, but still. I never lost her.

So, here's my plan:

Rebabyproof the house or deal with David screaming as I take yet another bottle of pills away from him

Upgrade myself from vigilant to hyper vigilant—I must have eyes or hands on him at all times in a public place.

Get help—until I get better at this, I just can't go to dangerzones, meaning basically anywhere, alone. John will be joining us at the Purim carnival tomorrow.

Buy a leash. Seriously, I'm thinking about it.