The other day I walked into the lounge to find my 14-month-old had managed to open the back of the Xbox controller and was sitting on the floor playing with the batteries.
How did he get the controller in the first place, you may ask?
Well, it seems the cheeky little thing had pushed his couch up against the entertainment unit, using the extra couple of inches it afforded him to clamber atop the shelf, where he was then able to stand up and reach the floating shelves where I had stored the controller.
It was at that moment I realised plug protectors and a gate around the fireplace were not going to cut it for baby-proofing the house against my mischievous little man.
Before having kids, I didn't really give a second thought to all the dangers in my home.
We stored medicine and razor blades in the bathroom vanity drawers, cleaning products under the sink in the kitchen and dog biscuits in the laundry.
The back door, with its high stone steps leading out into the yard, was always open for the dog, as were the French doors leading out to the deck for airflow.
Wax burners were always on in all the bedrooms and none of our furniture was bolted to the walls.
Even after the baby was born, we put off baby-proofing because we didn't see the point when the most movement our son made was rolling on to his tummy and back.
But as he got older and wanted to play with - or eat - anything he could get his sticky little fingers on, we decided it was time to install some baby gates and move everything out of his reach.
What I didn't count on was the little monkey doing parkour this soon!
Aside from having to constantly take him off furniture and pry things out of his mouth (getting a puppy really does train you for having a baby) the other nuisance of having a not-wholly-baby-proofed house is anything that hasn't been nailed down is at risk of disappearing.
And I mean never-to-be-seen-again disappearing.
The latest casualty has been the lounge TV remote.
We have scoured the entire house looking for it; we emptied the toy box, lifted up the couch, looked under all the beds, in hampers and drawers.
Anywhere the kid could have dropped it we've looked and it's nowhere to be seen.
We even walked around every inch of our 900 sq m section to see if it had made its way out there.
But we came up with squat.
I'm beginning to wonder if having a baby has also created a black hole that he can just biff stuff into when he gets bored.
Either that or I'm losing my marbles (which is entirely plausible at this stage).
But back to my original conundrum, I'm stumped as to how I baby-proof my house against a toddler who's determined to climb anything he can get a foothold into and taste test anything small enough to fit in his mouth.
Perhaps it's easier if I consign myself to the fact I birthed the next Evel Knievel and just hope I'm always around to provide cushioning for his next death-defying stunt.
(I can see the grey hairs coming through already).