operation death wish

So Graham has gotten to that point in babyhood at which no matter where he is in a room, he will immediately track down the deadliest object and head straight for it. Pokey-outy doorstop thingie right at eye gouging level? Check. Surge protector cord that wraps around the corner from the living room because there are NO OUTLETS where the TV is? Beeline. Heavy plastic gate that is precariously leaning up against the wall and will fall on your poor little braincase? Absolutely (wait, that one was my fault. And I cried for an hour).

In light of this, changing time has become an adventure fraught with terror and tension on our parts, and fraught with incredible amounts of fun and delight on Graham's part. (Can you be fraught with anything other than something bad? Hmm.) He really really likes to dig in his heels, flip himself over, grab onto the far edge of the changing table, and attempt to launch himself off. Little does he know, however, that the laundry basket is right underneath his precipice, and so if he did manage to make the leap, his efforts to perish would be for naught. So I knew it was only a matter of time before I heard from upstairs: "You want to go in the laundry so bad? Fine, let's go in the laundry!"