imprisoned

Well, the time has come -- time to pull out the safety gate and guard our sweet little [very mobile] Paige from the dreaded, steep, hard-as-nails, wooden stairs that we've lived in fear of her discovering ever since we moved into this old New England house.

She's crawling, pulling up, and scooting all over the place -- nothing is safe ... everything is fair game ... she's a whirlwind.

And she's so not thrilled with being penned into the living room. I feel like I need to give her a tin cup and a harmonica so she can sing the blues.

So sorry, baby girl. Life is full of disappointment.