Let me count the ways in which I am screwed...

My nine-month-old can negotiate the step between the family room (where all his toys are) and the rest of the first floor (where a lot of dangerous things are) and now pretty much has the run of the house.

Today, he wrestled me for access to my boob... and almost won.

Drawers in the kitchen are no match for Mr. Adventure and putting a yardstick through the handles to keep them from opening just gives him something new to play with (the yardstick makes a fun noise when it's pulled back and then let go to snap against the cabinet).

Changing a diaper is a full-scale wrestling event that involves pins, spin moves to break the opponent's hold and once he tried to tag the dog in when it looked like I was about to win.

Speaking of the dogs, they don't know what hit them. Or-- more accurately-- what suddenly and violently yanked at their crotch hair while they were sleeping.

Perhaps the worst part of all is how stinking cute he is while he wreaks havoc all over the house. This face almost makes me want to give in and let him do whatever he wants. Almost.