Non-Maternal Instincts

If you work for Children's Services, please stop reading.
So I guess you could say that when it comes to protecting my child from all the crap that he can (and will) get into around the house, I suck.
Baby proofing just ain't my thing. I tend to be more of a he-needs-to-listen-to-me-and-learn-for-himself kind of mom. And if you don't agree with me, then don't send your child over here for a playdate.
That's not to say I don't baby proof at all. We have one stair-blocking gate (an open stairwell leading to our basement), a half dozen outlet covers (I have yet to know anyone who has been electrocuted, but I don't want my son to be the first. Not cool), and cabinet locks on two cabinets containing hazardous materials (ironically these are the same materials used to clean the bathtub where he bathes and the windows that he smears his grubby paws across all day, but whatever).
Until this happened.
Yes, folks, that's a martini glass. Strangely my husband and I don't even like martinis. I've never even consumed a martini, ever. Seriously. Back in my alcohol consuming days I was a beer and wine girl, thank you very much.
So heck if I know why we have martini glasses. I think it was part of the oh-we're-getting-married-and-need-sophisticated-things-like-cone-shaped-glassware-in-order-to-appear-more-married. Um, that lasted a whole second considering baby was born seven months after our wedding day. You do the math.
And naturally we have these very fancy glasses stored in the back of a cabinet that we never open. My son, on the other hand, didn't get the memo. He opened the cabinet. He found fun-shaped shiny things. He grabbed. He whacked. He said, "uh-oh."
Okay, chill out. He's fine.  Not a scratch on his body. Maybe my son is meant to be one of those crazy mad scientists who walks on glass and eats fire. Rock on.
And in case you are wondering, this occurred immediately after the broken glass incident.
Don't worry, we didn't get all whacky with the baby proofing after that. And trust me, baby proofing can get whacky - I've seen folks: put straps around the T.V. and bolt the straps to the wall so that the T.V. doesn't fall (because T.V.'s do that sort of thing, apparently), place rubber corner protectors on everything in sight including rubber corners, lock toilets and refrigerators, fence in play areas inside an enclosed room inside a locked house, and mount their dresser to the wall so that it doesn't tip over and fall on baby (right).
There are even people who pay people to come to their house and tell them all the ways that their kids will die because of the type of blinds they have or the door knobs they don't have.
Not us. My son does not and never will live in a bubble. He has fallen off of a couch, out of a bed, and down a few stairs. And now with the broken glass incident on his record, I surely should be in jail for child endangerment, don't ya think?
Dear Lord,
Am I a terrible mother? I simply want my son to explore and go on adventures and journey through his childhood. So, yeah, the glass breaking incident wasn't one of my mothering highlights, but I learned from it, ain't that the point? And my son, well, he learned that breaking glass can be fun. Because, well, it can be. 
Are you going to put me in a bubble when I get to Heaven? Because I probably deserve it.