One night while we were in DC it became obvious that my exhausted children would never make it until the normal adult dinner time we had planned on, so I gave them some sandwiches and ushered them up to our room for the night around 6:30, which is their normal bedtime here. It was quiet for a long time and I was feeling pretty pleased with myself.
We had just sat down for dinner when I heard a funny noise. Godmother and Godfather live in a two-family, so I figured it was the neighbors walking down their stairs or something. But then I heard another funny noise. And then Wes burst into the dining room, grinning from ear to ear and babbling proudly.
I'll translate. He said "I got out of my crib then walked down two flights of hard, wooden stairs! All by myself! I bet you're really glad I didn't give myself a head injury!"
I didn't get to finish my delicious teriyaki meatballs that night. I still need to ask Godmother for the recipe. Instead I rocked Wes to sleep to make sure he didn't get out again. I woke up the next morning to find him scissor-kicking his way over the side. At six o'clock. Oy.
There were no more crib shenanigans after we came home and I figured the problem was limited to the Pack and Play. My mom asked around for cribs to borrow for an upcoming trip while Ryan wondered aloud "Really what's the big difference between a kennel and a crib? I mean, if we clean it out really good, and it's as big as the Pack and Play, then what's the big deal?"
We went around and around. It was $150 to rent a full-sized crib for the time we would be away. Ryan thought it was too much. And while I agreed, I pointed out that we would be staying approximately twenty five feet from a giant cliff over looking THE OCEAN and unless he wanted to sit by the front door all night, we really needed to find a reliable way to contain Wes.
The topic fell off the radar for the last couple of days because we were busy doing other things. But today Charlie and I were sitting at the kitchen table waiting for Wes to finish up his nap so we could do something when I heard a house-rattling WHUMP! directly above us. I stared at the baby monitor for a moment, counting the seconds between impact and scream that are an indicator of the severity of the injury.
There was nothing.
Then there was a fast series of small thumps heading in the direction of the stairs. I ran up and came face to face with Wes in the hall. He was very proud of himself.
This is really, really bad.