CAUTION: Gross story ahead. Proceed at your own risk.

And don't say I didn't warn you.

Little Baby D. has become quite the adventurous one of late. Unlike her sister, who is quite content to sit still and stay put and amuse herself, D. must be into EVERYTHING. She likes to climb, she likes to roll around (and off) things, and hasn't really absorbed the limitations of certain concepts - like GRAVITY. As such, we've dropped her crib mattress down a notch, and will probably drop it a third notch within the next few months, as she's already pulling herself up -- its only a matter of time, as they say. I've removed the evil crib bumpers as well, seeing as she can use them to boost herself up and into the stratosphere. My next move is to install a crib tent - which we originally purchased to keep the cats OUT of the crib -- only I'll be using it to keep my kid IN the crib.

Now. On to the gross part.

Last night, DH took the nieces out to a diner, I put the girls to bed on my own. No problem. They both laid down, and were playing with their little loveys. I had to use the bathroom. So, I'm there, doing my thing, when suddenly...

WHUMP.

...and then sound of D. crying hysterically.

Well, what was I to do? I pulled up my pants (dirty ass and all) and ran into the room, my mind racing, thinking I have to go to the E.R., waiting to see my child on the floor.
She was in her crib. From what I can tell, she must have pulled herself up, then lost her grip and fell backwards, smacking her head on the opposite side of the crib. I lifted her up, consoled her, my heart beating a mile a minute. I gave thanks to the gods, put my daughter back to sleep, then went back to the bathroom and finished wiping.

Motherhood sure is glamorous.

Speaking of shit (and things that smell like), my MIL is still ragging us to save one of our baby swings for my SIL's cursed offspring - Baby #4. Originally, DH and I agreed that we weren't giving her anything on principal. But then MOMMY worked her magic, and DH caved like a sand castle when the tide comes in. One of our swings is already trashed, the motor burned out. By the time SIL wants that swing, I can guaran-damn-tee you that the other one will be broken as well. WHY? Because I'd sooner throw the fucking thing into my yard, douse it in lighter fluid, set it ablaze and dance around it naked than give it to her. That bitch didn't offer me a DAMN thing when I was pregnant. She has 3 daughters - did she offer me any baby clothes? No. I got my gently-used-baby things from my friends and from COMPLETE strangers. The next thing you know, MIL will hit us up for our baby clothes to give to her. Which is why I need to get the girls' 3-6 and 6-9 month clothes out of the house pronto before MIL comes to visit next weekend. Someone's already asked me for them, I just need to get them out of the house.

Yes, its petty. Too fucking bad. If you have a baby swing you're not using, feel free to send it to my SIL, because she'll get mine over my cold dead corpse. Harrumph.