Danger Is My Middle Name

I know a lot of people nest before they have their babies, but we -- ever up for a challenge -- decided to turn our condo inside out 10 months into this parent thing.

Hey: let's buy new bookcases.
Hey: let's get an electrician to install recessed lighting.
Hey: let's test paint samples in the kitchen and bathroom...
All at the same time.

Delusional from lack of sleep? Perhaps.

We have books in our microwave, 60 watt lightbulbs between the sheets, and a pacifier hanging out next to the plunger (don't worry: we sterilized it).

While Rodney and I find the self-created disaster ennervating, Zora finds her new "landscape" thrilling.

Piles of IKEA boxes on the floor? Her chubby little jaw drops, and she pants in anticipation. A mountain to conquer! she thinks.

Box cutters lying on the floor? Better investigate.

Ooo, pliers. A perfect way to test the pinscer grasp.

It's as if the child has a little danger homing device embedded in her brain. Why, she reasons, would I play with my squishy, crinkly, parent-approved toy or wooden blocks when there are exacto knives lying around?