At only a year and a half, Oliver is scaling great, new heights ... quite literally, I'm afraid. Last night, after yet another prolonged clash of wills over the proper declaration of "bedtime," lights were dimmed and doors were closed but impassioned entreaties to the contrary continued in earnest. While Peg and I were in the kitchen getting dinner ready, we suddenly heard Oliver's cry escalate to a pointed new level. Going back in, we found him on the floor. Somehow, our little fella had managed to climb or vault up and over the side of his crib. Regrettably for him, this is where his otherwise admirable determination ran out of steam, as he failed to consider the four foot drop to the floor (which, when you yourself are only about two feet tall, is fairly severe), leaving him no recourse other than to helplessly plummet towards an unsympathetic carpet.
Now, Oliver's still very young, his bones are relatively soft and he's quite resilient, but doing faceplants from twice your own height is still pretty painful. More shocked than angry, we picked up our little Houdini and cuddled him while admonishing his foolhardiness. Having wrapped him back up in his covers and tucked him back into his crib, we again shut off the lights and returned to our swiftly-cooling Indian food. Within the shortest of minutes we heard a loud ka-THUD through the wall. Racing back into the kids' room, we again found Oliver curled up on the floor, have taken another desperate plunge, like a pint-sized Papillon in anticipation of the seventh wave. We looked over at Oliver's cellmate, Charlotte -- who was either as baffled as we were or had sworn herself to secrecy regarding her little brother's jailbreak scheme.
Much the relief of all parties concerned, Oliver did not attempt a third breach of security, but remained inconsolably irritable for the entirety of the night. Regardless, I took the precaution of cushioning his projected areas of impact with big, fluffy pillows. Peggy and I are truly hoping that this is not the beginning of a new campaign on our little son's part. I'm going to be counting spoons after every meal today, though. Given Oliver's iron-willed tenacity, I fully expect him to start attempting to tunnel out, Shawshank-style.
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