Eli’s crib is in one corner of his room, with the foot of the crib facing the corner. On the wall next to the foot of the crib is his bookcase; together the crib and bookcase form an L. This morning when I went in, he had one hand stuck through the crib slats grabbing a book from the shelf. Since the book wouldn’t fit through the slats, he passed the book to his other hand, which he’d draped over the side of the crib. He then lifted the book into his bed for reading, joining the ten or so books he’d worked through in the previous thirty minutes. “Hi, Daddy,” he said before going back to reading.
This kind of problem-solving generally freaks me out. Eli’s gone from being a philosophy major, observing and commenting without actually doing anything, to being a physics major with two sub-critical pieces of uranium who wonders what happens if he smooshes them together.
I’m certain I was nothing like this as a child.