The parenting books, those I have read and those I refuse to read, all talk about babyproofing your house. I hear tell that some people even hire special consultants to come over and help them babyproof their homes. This babyproofing, it seems, is very serious business.

When Johnny started crawling, I freaked out. “WE HAVE TO BABY PROOF EVERYTHING, RIGHT NOW. IN FACT, LET’S JUST BABYPROOF HIM. MAYBE WE CAN WRAP HIM IN BUBBLE WRAP AND HE CAN JUST ROLL AROUND.”

I went out and bought outlet covers of various sorts. I tried the first kind, and they worked so well, I can’t even get them out. Now our house has about three working outlets, all up high on the walls.

I bought covers for the corners of the coffee table and end table in the living room, because they are squared at the edges and razor-sharp. Then Johnny was crawling in the proximity of the oval, rounded-edge coffee table (read: already babyproofed in and of its very design) at the babysitter’s house and busted his eyelid open. He still has the scar.

I researched baby gates and measured doorways and started saving up for the fanciest gate on the planet. Then Kalli handed me two of the cheap collapsible kind that she had dumpster-dived and there they still are, blocking our kitchen and sometimes the hallway if there is too much crap down there and therefore it presents a hazard to even grownups, let alone a toddler.

Which brings me to the next point: the kitchen. I bought a bunch of fasteners for the cabinets so that Johnny can’t open them, but I never installed them. Why, you ask, would I let my super-hazardous kitchen go unchecked? Well, A) (and mainly) because we are lazy. And B) See above baby gate. We never let him in there. God only knows what is on the floor near the stove, where I cook. Best that he stay away from the whole mess. I suppose eventually I’ll have to do something about the cabinets because they really are a menace and I can’t keep him out of there forever, but in the meantime, keeping him contained to a 5′ x 4′ area in the living room seems to be doing the trick just fine.

I thought I would need a new TV stand, one that protected our electronics better, but it turns out that putting a large plastic toy in front of the cabinet works just fine. And as for the pile of hazards (coins, electronics, fingernail clippers, tazers, lighters, and a box of easy-light matches) on the end table by our couch? I just shoved the toy box in front of it so he can’t reach it.

So as you can see, it’s a total house of horrors we live in, as far as a one-year-old is concerned. We keep the doors shut to all the unsafe bedrooms and I try to keep him out of the toilet as best I can.

Yes, safety is important. We are practical. Like I said, I covered all the outlets so securely that it will take a master electrician to ever use them again. I tied the cords from the blinds way up high so he can't reach them and wrap them around his neck. But besides all that, you know what else works great? The word NO. And yes, I know it’s not de rigeur to use the word “No” with your kid. We’re supposed to say “Danger!” or “That’s not yours!” or “Please play somewhere else.” But you know, my kid doesn’t seem to respond to those words. But when I say “Johnny, NONONONONONONO!” he tends to look up at me, shake his head “no,” and put down the offending object. If that doesn’t work, I take the object out of his hand and swallow it. Either way, problem solved.

So, our house? Not so baby proof. I was the nutty parent who used crib bumbers, and who still has a lamp in the nursery on a low table that Johnny can reach if he’s allowed to. I am the crazy woman who lets my kid play with my phone sometimes, and who gave her child his own remote control, sans batteries. I also refused to throw away a great toy that I discovered too late was recalled.

I could have spent a fortune, babyproofing our home. There is a product out there for every possible hazard you can think of, and many hazards you won’t. While I am an advocate of safe and healthy kids, I am, as always, thee anti-advocate of a marketing world that makes us think we are bad parents if we don’t spend a month’s pay on babyproofing. I am the spokesperson for sanity. I am the supermodel of spendthriftiness.