Gabe does the darndest things

The more I live with this wonderful boy of mine, the more I become convinced of one thing...if Gabriel had been my first child, I seriously think he would have been my last. He would have scared me off from having more kids permanently. I love him. I truly do. It's just that he frequently pushes me to the brink of insanity and then beyond.

Gabe walked at 8 months old. He tried to climb the ladder to the attic when he was only one week shy of 11 months old...Shortly after he discovered the joy of climbing, he discovered the joy of kamikaze leaps and the bumps and bruises and scars began. His first kamikaze scar was within a month of the ladder incident...He would jump from couch to couch and, when that failed to entertain, he would stand on the arm of the couch and take flying leaps down the length of the couch. He chipped one of his front teeth when he scaled his high chair and leapt from the arms of it. Oh, we can't forget when one of the coffee table leaps lead to him getting a split on the back of his head about 1/2 to 3.4 of an inch long. Luckily, it was pretty shallow and the bleeding stopped quickly.

And, thank God for the bathing suits with the built in floats because Gabe FIRMLY believed he could conquer the swimming pool through sheer force of will.

Put simply, Gabe doesn't walk if he can run. He doesn't go around things if he can go over things. The world exists solely for the purpose of being Gabe's jungle gym.

Could you imagine what it would be like if I was not an attentive parent? I am with this little boy almost all day everyday. I watch him closely. Yet, if I dare to take a moment to load the dishwasher or clean the house, disaster can be (and often is) lurking right around the corner.

You will never guess what he did did yesterday. I will give you one hint. It did not involve physical danger (well, the act itself didn't).

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Gabe decided to scoop the cats' litter box with his Crocs (thank God for bleach). That alone was bad enough but he then decided to dump the litter into the bath tub. I seriously do NOT understand this child's obsession with litter boxes. In the past, I have found litter on the floor, on the bathroom counter (eeeeeew), in the toilet (at least that makes a screwed up amount of sense), and in the middle of the hallway. It wasn't until I was telling Kym (and, do you think she showed me any sympathy or do you think she laughed her ass off?) about this while we were talking on Facebook that I finally figured out why he used his Crocs to scoop it. I had lectured Gabe about leaving the litter boxes alone less than a week ago. During this lecture, I told Gabe he could NOT stick his hands in the litter because it could make him sick. At least he absorbed something from the lecture (even if it wasn't the most important point).

So, would a kid like Gabe be enough to scare you of from even trying to have any more?