No, I’m not reviewing the crappy Jennifer Garner movie. I have a daredevil in my house. She’s about 19 1/2 pounds and 16 months old. And I think she thinks she’s one of the adults. She’s started walking up the stairs. Not crawling. Walking. Like she’s 4. Not even holding my hand. She’s a climber. The couch, the glider in their room, she’s even tried to climb up on our bed (it’s pretty high). She’s utterly fearless.
And she’s tough. Since she leads all of her escapades with her head, literally, she’s constantly bruised. I’m afraid for when she goes to pre-school. They’re going to call CPS on us after her first week. But she cries for a few minutes, cuddles, and is on her way. Half the time, she skips the “cries, cuddles” part of that and is just up and on her way.
I swear, she’s going to give me a coronary before she’s two. Thankfully, N is the total opposite. Not a risk taker at all. I don’t know if I could handle two of them. He’ll be the kid on the ground pointing up at the top of the refrigerator one day yelling, “Sissy, you’re gonna get it this time!”