We've been home for--what is this, Wednesday?--a day and a half.
In that time, Adrian has caused me to have at least one case of mild cardiac arrest. It's just like Sarah says, they are totally listening to you.
Monday night, I'm on the phone with my mother-in-law and she's telling me about how someone she works with has a baby that's about Adrian's age and how this baby's favorite thing to do is to climb onto the coffee table and jump off. And I said to her, thank goodness our baby isn't interested in climbing up onto things.
Tuesday evening, we're putting away groceries and Adrian is chasing the cats. I load my arms up with things that need to go down the hall to the pantry, turn around and this is what I see:
Adrian, atop a box that contains a 7 piece glass barware set.
I shout "oh, holy fuck!" because my arms are full and at any second he could fall and bash his brains out on the tile floor. Aaron drops what he's doing and comes bounding across the kitchen, and removes Adrian from the box, as I empty my arms of all the pantry-bound glass bottles and try to swallow my heart back into my chest cavity.
Since when did Adrian become a box-climbing monkey baby?!
Since I was fool enough to open my mouth and say otherwise.