With Junior underfoot, I was ironing and concentrating on not having the little peanut grab the cord and pull the iron down on himself. As soon as I was done, I went to put the iron on a nearby unreachable surface. Then I heard a crash.
See, before I turned my back on him, Junior had pulled himself up using the bottom of the framed full-length mirror we had just bought and installed. As I walked away, he began pulling on it, and my forebrain made the calculations, consulted with my midbrain, and assured me that he couldn't possibly tear the mirror off the wall.
Junior had pulled in such a way that the hooks holding up the mirror had a conscious uncoupling from the wall, and the whole thing came crashing straight down. This is a good thing because, had it plummeted at an angle, the mirror's fall would have been broken...by Junior's head. Instead, the scene that greeted my panicked eyes was the mirror still standing -- frame broken, glass cracked, but still standing! -- and a blinking, unharmed baby.
I pulled him away from The Scene and laid him on our bed for a physical, checking his uncovered bits for bleeding or shards of glass. He was fine and already vocalizing about my using the phone to leave Hubby a hysterical voicemail ("The mirror broke! Baby broke the mirror! I think he's fine! Uh! Call me back!").
Then I strapped him to my back and cleaned up the mess. My heart rate went back to normal after about 30 minutes, at which point Junior was already blissfully napping, dreaming of his next feat of baby-inspired parental terror. I believe it's daddy's turn next.
TL;DR: We will now Velcro everything to everything.
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