To look at him, you wouldn't expect him to be an escape artist. He has deceptively innocent eyes, novice-level hand coordination, and limited verbal skills. He can't even walk, for goodness sake. But he can wriggle out of the carseat harness faster than you can turn around, and he sheds and dumps his sleepsak, pants and socks from the crib within minutes of me leaving the room.
I've heard enough horror stories over the years to fear the day when I would walk into my son's room to find a dirty diaper smeared in ungodly places. I've been quietly and continually thankful that's never happened.
Now I can already see the writing on the wall.
And it's brown.
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