Sitting up and taking notice

Lately, when she wakes up, babygirl has taken to sitting up in her crib. This has prompted her proud but prudent parents to crank up the "omigod the baby" alert level another notch by lowering the crib mattress another notch.

The new depth is good for baby, not so good for daddy. Now I have to reach way down to pick up my no-longer-so-little bundle of joy, whose weight seems to be increasing at a rate inversely proportional to the atrophy rate of my neglected core muscles. I'm glad it's as low as it can go. Any lower and I'd have to invent a complex system of pulleys and counterweights to get the kid out.

But aside from the minors aches and pains of an out-of-shape dad, all seemed to be well. A few days ago, however, our pint-sized inmate staged a protest to let her jailers know she was dissatisfied with the new dimensions of her cell. When she awoke from her afternoon nap, I came in to find her sitting up with no pants on!

I have no idea how she got her pants off, or what she thinks taking off her pants will do to influence us to raise her mattress. But as warden of the day shift, I do know this: it won't work. Neither will setting her blankie on fire or dragging a plastic baby spoon across the bars and yelling "Attica! Attica!" This is maximum security, baby.