Where's Kiddle?

Oh. My. God. Kiddle just about sent me into labor a bit ago.

I was upstairs, sorting laundry. Mr. P was in his basement office, working on his thesis. And Kiddle was on the couch watching "Cars." At least that's where we left him.

I thought I heard him crying, and since I knew Mr. P was in the basement, I came downstairs to check it out. He wasn't in the living room and I continued on toward the basement, looking for the source. It sounded like he was crying OUTSIDE so I paused by the side door and called out to Mr. P, "Are you with him?" "Nope," came his reply wafting up from the basement. Fuck.

Kiddle had gone out the side door by himself and was on the driveway sobbing because the asphalt was burning his feet. (I should mention it's almost 90 out today and he was only wearing a diaper.) I almost had a heart attack or, at least, a baby.

In the last week or so, he figured out how to unlock and open the front door. I got an alarm for that door on Friday, but hadn't dealt with the side door just yet. It has a double key deadbolt so he can't get out that door (although he already swipes my keys on occasion and attempts an escape), but today it was open to the screen door because of the heat. Looks like we'll be headed out to Home Depot soon to get another alarm.

Or maybe a lo-jack for Kiddle. They make those for toddlers now, right?