This morning while I was showering, Eli wandered into the bathroom. “Hi, daddy!” he said, before closing the bathroom door behind him. Uh-oh, I thought, and waited for Eli to start howling because he was trapped in the bathroom. Instead I heard him rattling the doorknob. The door swung open and he went back out.
“He can open doors!” I told Misty.
“Well, yes, he’s been doing that for a few days.”
A few days? Good grief, does she not realize that a toddler being able to open doors is like handing North Korea a couple of bottles of Mad Dog 20/20, the keys to the car, and nuclear weapons, telling the nation, “Don’t go getting all tore up tonight, kid!” The last time I felt this unsettled was when Eli made the transition from immobile object to crawling fiend. I was used to putting him down, walking out of the room, and returning to find him in the same spot. All of a sudden he was like the box turtle I found when I was 12 and brought back to our yard so he could be my pet, only to find out an hour later he’d vanished. At this rate I might as well show him how to work the stick shift in my truck and let him drive himself to Kindermusik. He can use those wooden blocks like Short Round did in the Indiana Jones movie.