Everything Can Kill Your Child

When I was young, nothing in our home was baby/child-proofed. There were no such things as little plastic locks for pantry doors, covers for electrical outlets, baby gates and the like.

My mother, an artist and interior designer, didn't forgo her taste to ensure that both my brother and I were in a "safe" environment. This isn't to say she went out of her way to make it unsafe, but it is to say that I don't think she worried about it much - at least not when it came to the home itself. She was beyond paranoid about what might happen to us outside of the house - at the hands of strangers of course, but wasn't very concerned about what would happen to us under our own roof.

I think the one safety concession I can recall was the installation of an iron gate to surround the pool once we were adolescents and probably too old and too wise to drown or accidentally fall in anyway.

This is not to point a finger at my parents by the way. I don't think they did anything wrong in terms of ensuring our safety in the home. In fact, I think they did most things right - and for the most part, my brother and I were never injured in that house for any reason other than our, (my brother's and my), own doing through some sort of roughhousing, or other mischievous behavior that wouldn't and couldn't have been prevented through any warning labels, recalls or baby-proofing paraphernalia.

Today, it seems that unless you go out of your way to baby-proof your home in every imaginable manner, you're a negligent parent.

Moreover, even if you do, chances are you'll hear a news report at least once within the course of the next week about some type of recall... be it a faulty stroller or crib, mercury-laden toys, or some device or type of food, (like hot dogs), that are out to kill your children.

Everything must have a warning label now - because everything and I mean everything can kill your child.

Somehow, my brother and I grew up unscathed. We're still here, sans baby-proofing, warning labels and the like.

Hmm...

Maybe it's because our parents supervised us and didn't allow us to go rifling through the knife drawer in the kitchen? Just a thought...