He Did Stop Terrorizing Me...

And as the Mother of the Gremlin finishes her practicals, we found a day care in the office. They do better than all of the state's regulations, have nicer facilities, only 2 infants per person on duty, and even have private nap rooms if your child has the attention span of an ADD-afflicted stock trader on crack. It's also comforting when the people who are around children all day don't believe that your child is not what age is claimed on the form. That's right, the precocious little ... darling ... has been so difficult that the day care people are requesting proof of age (birth certificate) to prove that he belongs in that age group (and not the next one up - in which there are no vacant positions).

Apparently he was calm all day during the day (due to the classical music playing in the background) until he was taken to the park (no classical music). He was the first out of the stroller (keep in mind there are only two babies per person in the nursery), and upon extracting the second child, ours was nowhere to be found, as he had stood up and made a sprint for freedom. Or the hot dog vendor (it's interesting how the MOTG was home with the Gremlin all summer, and now he can recognize any type of hot dog stand...).

The second incident that sparked the requiring of the proof of age takes a bit of setup. The daycare is split into two different categories, infants and toddlers. The rooms were designed with the little people in mind, and the handles were made down at their level. Well, more thought was put into this ("Do we really want 1 and 2 year-olds to be able to let themselves out of the room?), and it was decided that the two rooms would switch, so the toddler room got the room that was previously the infant room, and the infant room inherited door handles that are just slightly below the normal level of doorhandles.

Apparently a synonym of "slightly below the normal level" is "within our son's reach". As alert as he is, the escapes are planned at a moment when he is not going to be watched for the next 15 seconds, and then executed with cutthroat (or cutbottle) efficiency. He scooted his way over to the closet, opened the door, and sealed himself inside. He's been playing with doors and hinges for the past few weeks at home, and learned them quite well. The 'Child Care Specialist' was searching for him for ten minutes before the Gremlin realized that a) it was dark and b) it was so dark he couldn't see the handle. This results in everyone's favorite time: Cry Time. The noise led them to the closet, and the MOTG had to be called down off rounds to calm him down.

We have until Friday to produce proof that he is, in fact, 10 months old.