Last night, as I was upstairs with Donovan, he rammed the baby gate with his fire-truck-thingy and managed to knock down the gate and go tumbling halfway down the stairs. TOTAL PANIC for both of us. I later found the book I had been carrying flung halfway across the living room where I must have thrown it in a fit of melodrama when it all happened.
I ran downstairs and scooped up my wailing, clumsy, toddler and quickly realized he was fine, just spooked. David, who had heard me shout “OH MY GOD!!!” when it happened had joined me on the stairs asking “are you ok????” repeatedly. Just as everyone was starting to calm down and realize we had averted disaster, Donovan points to the top of the stairs where his fire truck is rammed through the demolished baby gate and says “OH NO!!” as if to say “look! Some ass hole tore up the gate and my favorite toy!!” Yeah, that would be you, turd-o-potamus.
At least that kid is always good for some comic relief.
“I will wreck your shit with my happy little cartooney firetruck.”