My husband and I have different takes on child-proofing the house. My natural instinct is to pad, cushion, lock or prop every cupboard, shelf, door and electrical socket we can find. Craig is a bit more pragmatic about these things, saying that Erin must learn not to stick her fingers in places they don’t belong. So, the only cupboards we have child-proofed are the ones in the bathroom and kitchen containing medicines and toxic household detergents. But last week, while in the care of her nanny and my mom, Erin had a serious bout of constipation. Apparently, she had spent the whole morning crying and writhing in agony, until it was decided that she needed gripe water to ease the pain. My septuagenarian mom, who finds unlocking her own front door challenging at the best of times, was flummoxed by the child lock on the bathroom door. After much swearing, she eventually cut off the offending lock, leaving pieces of plastic strewn all over the floor. So the cupboard, once verboten, has become Erin’s new place of interest. Yesterday I found her sitting in front of the cupboard, “digging” in the bathroom mat with one of my purple razors. I removed the lethal weapon, and her, from the scene, but a few hours later she was at the cupboard again, this time rubbing a foot-shaped pumice stone against her head, like a hair brush. Needless to say, we immediately rushed out to get more baby locks for the bathroom. It’s just a pity that these locks are clearly also “granny-safe”.