Holy crap, toddlers are dangerous. The other day when I was taking a shower, Harry ate some of my Lancome Renergie cream-- not much judging from the amount smeared on the walls and the counter top. What really freaked me out was the open tube of toothpaste on the counter next to my violated face cream because that stuff will kill you, you know. I nervously smelled his breath, but it wasn't minty fresh, just really expensive and wrinkle free.
So now we have to re-babyproof everything, this time from the point of view of a much smarter creature who can climb well (to get my moisturizer, he dumped out a basket of bath toys and pushed it into the master bedroom, where he turned it over and used it as a stool) instead of from the point of view of a shuffling, drooling zombie.
Or I can just stop taking a shower. And blinking,
Here's Harry climbing on the toilet, which may be his favorite thing to scale. He likes nothing more than to throw tissues one by one onto the floor and then yell uh-oh and scramble down to pick them up, so he can climb back up and try to put them back, screaming in, in. He usually falls off and hits his head a few times in the process.
Notice he brought his own beverage. Yummy. Nothing more appetizing than milk in the bathroom. Unless it's a plate of freaking chicken wings (Harry's Uncle Ben, you know who you are).
Here he is grabbing his face in Macaulay Culkin like consternation because he cannot manage to squeeze them all back in the box
I'm going gray here, and I'm not even 30 (although, yes, I will be very soon).
On a side note, we voted today (Go Hillary! And how cool was it to vote for a woman for president? Super cool, and I hope I can do it again in November) and Harry was so bummed because he thought we said we were going to boat. He was totally pissed when we got to our polling place (an elementary school with a black history month display that prominently featured Obama and was RIGHT NEXT TO the voter registration table) and discovered there wasn't even any water, let alone a boat.