I am so lucky. I am so doomed.

We were gardening this morning when Fiona became besieged by biting insects. Fiona stayed outside with sidewalk chalk. Nora wandered in with me, but didn't go upstairs. I went up to the bathroom to get bug bite cream for Fiona. I came down with the tube to find Nora on the library stool in the kitchen playing in the sink. No huge surprise, I guess. The child loves water. Here's the kicker: next to her was a (recently opened) bottle of Miralax, which had been up in the kitchen windowsill, with a childproof lid, dumped into a soaking dish which had held blueberry buckle an hour or so before.

I already know that children are SO DIFFERENT from each other. I really do. Really! I know this in theory, and I clearly know this in practice. But it is a day-to-day reality check that gets brought home every week or so in new, humbling, and sometimes terribly frightening ways. Today is that day all over again.

It is not yet clear how many things we may need to lock down around here. Probably a great many things. Nora is an experimenter. A dabbler. A wonderer. An artist. And while that is, in some ways, laudable; it will probably also give her parents many, many gray hairs.