The incredible, death-defying antics of the Amazing Stuntman

Watch him fly through the air with the greatest of ease…

Well, no, more like watch him climb on a chair and fall down on his knees.

My little guy is certainly living up to his nickname this week. At 17 months he has decided gravity is there to be defied and conquered and has started climbing everything. And I mean everything. 

My little Stuntman

Yesterday I had to rescue him from the top of the dining table, the top of the outdoor setting on our deck (where he was standing peering over the balcony railing!), and from the top of an esky. Yep, an esky (that's an ice-box, cool-box, chilly-bin or cooler for those visiting from outside of Oz :) . If it’s even slightly elevated, he’ll try to climb it. This morning I caught him piling up a few of his books and standing on top of them, a look of triumph and satisfaction lighting up his gorgeous face. 


He climbs both into and out of the bath (not good when slippery!), tried to climb up my pantry shelves, and made a decent attempt at climbing his sister’s chest of drawers.

It’s very cute, but also terrifying. I never had this with Little Miss; she was more about stories and singing and dancing and cuddles at this age. She could chuck a world-class wobbly, and was known to break toys and even crockery, but I was never really concerned about her breaking bones.

The Stuntman is currently covered in bruises, scrapes and scratches. He’s got a bump on his head, a cut under one eye, and so many bruises on his skinny little shins that they look like they've been painted purple. 

I’m pretty sure that our first trip to the Emergency Room is not far off, something that we’ve managed to avoid with Little Miss. Seeing his cuts, his grazes, his blood and bruises makes my stomach twist and my throat tighten – I hate him to experience pain, or fear. But I also don’t want to stop him from experiencing the exhilaration and pride he so obviously feels after reaching each 'summit'.

He took a tumble down the back stairs the other day, head first, leaving Mr McD completely breathless and looking like he was going to faint. The Stuntman was fine though – after a little cry he was back to climbing the bloody things, straight up, like a ‘big boy’, rather than going up on his bum like we taught him.

He starts daycare next week and I’m worried about what new tricks he’ll learn from the bigger kids, what mischief he’ll get up to without me around. Hopefully his big sister will keep an eye on him and keep him out of too much trouble.

Part of me is so proud of him for every new achievement, but another part of me sheds a little tear that my baby boy is no longer a baby. In all likelihood he is my last baby, so I want to hold on to him a little longer, keep him close to me. Perhaps that’s why I haven’t made much progress weaning him yet… I want to keep that connection, that closeness, that ‘baby-ness’ of our breastfeeding relationship.

So for now I’ll just keep placing cushions under all of the furniture, and maybe invest in some bubble wrap!

Is this just a boy thing? Or is it a personality thing? I’d love to hear about your climbers!