Deathproof.

Shortly after I gave birth to Punky, back in the doldrums of staying up late boobie-partying til 4 am and hating the world because of it, just about every old lady I encountered would tell me, "Oh enjoy them while they're little, dear, because they grow up so fast!" And I'd smile and nod, while believing that lizards were sitting atop their little white heads and eating their clip-on earrings, because when you're only sleeping ten hours a week, your brain starts to dream up some crazy things, haha, hahahaha, haha, heeeee...

But somewhere amidst my sleep-deprived hallucinations, I scoffed to myself and thought, "Yeah, okay lady," thoroughly convinced that there was no conceivable end to the sleepless nights, the exhausting breastfeeding every 90 minutes game, the tiny little blob that really had no idea who or what I was besides a boob as she stared dizzily into space -- while I secretly loathed my husband and started regretting not just leaving the baby at the hospital and running, running, running...

And then you blink, and she's 8 months old, 17 lbs. heavier and six inches taller, charming and smiley, and you love her more than life itself. And oh yeah, now she's crawling like a pro and getting dangerously talented at cruising. That's the point where you suddenly have on a new set of lenses in your glasses as you look around the house and see DEATHLY DANGERS everywhere you look. Then you Google "baby-proofing your house" and realize that your fears were indeed real, according to the Internets, because clearly, everything in the house WILL KILL YOUR BABY in HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE WAYS. And you are a BAD MOTHER if you don't baby-proof every single conceivable danger in your house.

Up until this point, the closest I'd come to protecting an impaired, thrashing little person was putting my cell phone lock on and deleting my exes' phone numbers before I'd go out drinking. And having never been around babies aside from my little brother (five years my junior), I had no idea what was a bad, bad idea. Like my beautiful silk panel curtains. Didn't think about the issue there until Punky smoothly and quickly pulled them down. Our open, low entertainment center, complete with Gamecube, DVD player, and Dish DVR box all within two feet of the ground? Yeah, that has to go.

The pedestals holding up the speakers to our surround sound? Surely will bludgeon or impale Punk in one foul swoop.

All of A's computer cords strewn on the floor under his computer desk? Somehow make the best kind of chew toy.

The big handle of Jim Beam now full of spare change and probably weighs a good 20 lbs.? Yeah, she pulled that down and by the grace of who-knows-what, avoided smashing her fingers. Bye-bye Jim Beam.

Dog food dish in the kitchen? DELICIOUS.

And I won't even get into the obvious stuff like light sockets and door knobs and all that. Jesus. Like, EVERYTHING will kill your kid in one way or another. Thankfully, I take a lot of the parental warnings with a grain of salt, since most advisories cater to the lowest common denominator -- i.e., leaving your baby in the Bumbo chair on top of a table (on a table? Fucking serious?). Or letting your baby cruise on down the unattended stairs in her walker. Things that most parents, even if they're only vaguely and disinterestedly watching their kids, could stop them in time. Although you're hearing this sage wisdom from the chick who looks away and then glances back up from Perez Hilton to find her daughter chewing on power cords... AGAIN.

(Oh she's fine. A little shock'll just put some pep in her step, right?)

Really, though, I think parents should just ignore child-proofing and just let natural selection take place. I mean, hey, love ya kiddo, but if you think you need to keep licking the light socket... well, it's been nice knowing ya. Hehehe, I mean, I'm kidding, guys, come back, I was just kidding, put down the phone, don't call CPS on me. I wouldn't really let my kid lick the light sockets.

Besides, they're all plugged up with multiple cords to multiple appliances, computers, DVD players, and video game systems. Because let's face it, A and I can't even child-proof ourselves. If that were possible, I wouldn't be eating an entire bag of Doritos and cream cheese frosting for dinner. But I can, and I do, because I'm the mommy and I said so.