The reality of children in our apartment

Our apartment is like a children’s death trap. No, let me reword that. A child would not die running around this apartment. I would probably die from the horror of seeing any little blob running around this apartment and breaking literally everything, from the glass coffee table to the glass legs of my dining room table to even my small but growing collection of European Christmas houses that we have displayed in our living area.

It kind of felt that way today when we invited four friends over, two of whom are a couple with a 1.5 year old son. He was generally very sweet and well behaved, but there was of course the occasional moment when I was watching him and literally holding my breath at what was going to happen next. He’s my child, so I can’t just grab him and hold him down like I may have wanted to. He smashed a squishy football into the plate of frosted pumpkin cinnamon rolls. He slammed his mom’s mobile phone onto the top of our glass coffee table (thankfully, it wasn’t hard enough that any damage was done), and we had to keep him far, far away from the Christmas houses (they are made of ceramic, and I’d probably strangle him if he did anything to them). I was at the most peaceful state when he had passed out from exhaustion. That was a good moment.

I knew this when we got this apartment and the furniture that came with it, but this apartment is not child-proofed. In fact, it’s a terrible place for little children running around. There’s glass furniture everywhere, sharp corners, delicate display pieces from my little houses to our wine decanters. I shared this story with colleague, who said to me that yes, while you do have to child-proof your house once you have kids… you kind of have to child-proof your child and make sure they understand what’s off limits and what’s wrong.

That is so terrifying.

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