Sadly, he is not as enthusiastic about putting the food back.
My sister, Martha, helpfully sent us a step-stool that belonged to her children, so that Owen could begin to think about climbing onto the toilet. He has not started to think about that yet, but he has been very pleased to use the stool to get access to my two bathroom drawers that he couldn’t reach before. Here he is going through the drawers:
And then looking up at me, saying cheese, and returning to his debauchery.
I’m thinking of moving the stool to his bedroom, because my friend’s physical therapist says that stepping up on a stool with one foot and then leaning over is a better way to put an almost thirty pound toddler down without further straining my sore back. Since my means of getting Owen in his crib as of late have been to kind of gently flip him in as one would turn a pancake on a griddle, well it is perhaps no wonder we’ve been experiencing some sleep regression lately.
Owen writing the great American novel in Dorothy's bed on bed.