My Darling Little Velociraptor

I feel like we are living a scene from Jurassic Park over here. You know the one where they think they have found a safe place to hide in the kitchen. Someone asks the scientist lady if they'll be safe in there from the Velociraptors, and she says, "Yes, we'll be safe. (Half laughing) unless they've figured out how to open doors." Then it immediately cuts to a door handle going up and down and instantly you know that it's too late, they've already figured it out, and they're all doomed.

It seems like every day I'm watching my own little Raptor, figure yet something else out that makes my day harder. It's like his thought process is, "hey, mom put me in my excersaucer so she can get some stuff done. I think I'll just spend 5 minutes and figure out how to climb out." That was Monday. Yesterday he escaped twice from our makeshift "baby barricade." And every time he gets out of something he always laughs. Like he knows he was supposed to stay in there, but the jokes on us because he knows he is a genius baby being raised by mere idiots. When he is not contained, he is into everything. I imagine you're probably like: Mel, this is child 4, aren't you aware that this is what they do? But I think it's because it's child 4 that I find it so exhausting. Which is so sad. Justin's baby book is full of fun delightful memories of all of his firsts. Now I'm all, "What?! Seriously, how did you figure out how to climb stairs? Dang it!" Can't you just picture him on the psychiatrist's couch: "I just feel like my mom never was happy with my successes..." I"m mostly kidding. At least he's cute when he pulls down the garbage can for the 3rd time in a day. But maybe I should just start putting money away each month for future therapy just in case...