Precious moments of parenthood - vol. 1 (Downside of Progress or The Tale of a Drawer)

Sir Sprout crammed his fingers into a drawer this morning. One moment he was happily decorating the bedroom floor with a tasteful arrangement of socks and tights; the next bawling angrily, little fingers stuck.

I blame modern furniture design. Them blasted drawers sliding smoothly and quietly. The progress and technological revolution and evils of consumer-oriented capitalism.

This would never have happened back when it never rained, grass was greener and I was still sporting nappies (the environment-friendly cloth kind, not that my mother had any choice in the matter). I still have to put in at least weeks worth of gym sessions to brave the drawers back in my parents house. They're big. Heavy. And in constant state of being stuck.

In short - very baby-friendly. No 10-month old could cultivate adequate muscle to pry them open.

Considerable body mass is required to actually close those. It's almost ritual-like - first you steady yourself making sure all available limbs are firmly pressed either against the floor or the drawer. Then you breathe in, concentrate and charge in. On a good day it results in closed drawer. On a typical day you end up with ridiculously tilted drawer, one corner disappearing into the unit, another one sticking out.

I won't even start with horrors of trying to get the blasted drawer open to close it again.

So you see, it's nothing to do with neglectful parenting or lack of supervision.

Oh, and Sir Sprout is fine. He will not have to go through life with flat fingers.
Quite sure he'll stick us into crappiest nursing home available though.
Oh well.