When my daughter was born, it seemed like an age would pass before I’d have to worry about childproofing. That tiny, immobile munchkin on the play mat was going to stay like that for seven years while we caught up on sleep and became perfect parents. Then — and only then — she would move on to being a walking, reaching little person.
My baby did not get the memo, apparently, because now we have a curious 14-month-old on the verge of discovering that the knobs under the kitchen sink are portals to a trove of forbidden treasure. The time had come to disappoint her instincts, and relieve my anxieties. Here’s how I childproofed my kitchen.
