Boys. Yes, I know.
Apparently, this means trying, in every conceivable way, to harm oneself. Such as stacking some plastic bins on the sofa and then climbing up onto them, using the coffee table, which you somehow managed to push up to the sofa’s edge with your brute 2-year-old strength, as a step stool.
I’m telling you, if I manage to get this boy to adulthood in one piece, I will feel like mother of the year.