Drew loves to climb. It's been a favorite sport of his for quite some time. We first noticed this hobby when he climbed up into the walker, hoisted himself onto the walker's tray and started reaching for the top of the swing next to the walker. Then there were the stairs at my mother's house. There's every bed and chair in this house. The coffee table (which he then likes to stand on in a King of the Mountain fashion--we're trying to break this habit). Any sort of ladder or jungle gym at the neighborhood playground. Every fence and railing at the zoo. And so on.
He definitely gets it from his father. I told Mark he better get back into climbing shape and soon--his son is going to need a partner when he decides he wants to start grappling up the big rocks, which will probably be the first time he sets eyes on any such thing. I am now reconsidering our vague notion of taking the Boy up to the Grand Canyon in the next few months.
Luckily, the Drewbinator doesn't seem to have inherited his mother's fear of falling. That's the reason I can't help Mark get back into climbing shape. I can scramble up any rock wall you put in front of me. I just can't get down without a therapist.
But there is a problem with the Drew Monster's choice of shoes for his climbing adventures. Andrew loves to put on my slip-on house shoes and go clomping around in them. Doesn't care for Daddy's shoes at all (can't really blame him, the things are seconds away from collapsing into a pile of unassociated shoe cells). In fact, Drew will often wander away from his toys in one area of the house, run to get my shoes, and either stuff himself into them and shuffle his way back, or drage them back to me so I can help him into them.
Hmmm. I suppose I better keep all of my strappy heels and such out of sight in our closet for a few years.