Ladies and Gentlemen, brace yourselves:
A baby is coming to visit our apartment.
The apartment Gary and I live in is quite possibly the least baby and child friendly place in the entire universe. We live on the 23rd floor. It's full of expensive, jaggedy electronics and a floor-to-ceiling unsecured bookcase.
Not to mention the magnetic knife rack gracing the kitchen.
I have visions of a wee toddling tyke stabbing himself, tipping over hundreds of heavy dvds onto his head, and then pitching headfirst through the patio door off the balcony.
Fortunately said tyke is 2 months old, and Gary assures me he's not walking yet. I still have time to baby-proof this shack up.
For now, I'm just making sure all the liquor is out of reach. Babies are wiley little things. You can never be too sure...
Orange and Oat Scones
1 day ago
1 comments:
2 months? No worries. At that age they just lay around like Jabba the Hut (did I spell that right?). They're way too 'fancy' to use their legs.
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