You know that getting into everything phase?
Where silence is suspicious.
Where every room scan turns into a risk assessment.
Where you can’t sit down, not because you don’t want to, but because someone is actively opening, dumping, or dismantling something.

People say, “Enjoy it while it lasts.”
“This phase will pass.”

For Courtney, it hasn’t.

She’s twelve, but she still gets into everything. And not in a cute, curious way, this is relentless, zero-fear exploration that requires constant supervision.

Drawers. Cabinets. Bags. Toiletries.
Food that isn’t food.
If it exists, she’ll find it.
If it’s closed, she’ll open it.
If it’s hidden, she’ll locate it.

Toddler-proofing?
I call it Courtney-proofing.

There’s no “I’ll just run to the bathroom.”
No “She’s old enough, she’ll be fine.”
Because the moment I look away, something is happening.

Sometimes it’s harmless chaos.
Sometimes it’s the kind of moment that makes your heart drop and your adrenaline spike.

People see a twelve year old and assume independence.
What they don’t see is the constant mental checklist.
The vigilance.
The exhaustion of never turning your awareness off.

And yet, this is so deeply Courtney.
Her curiosity.
Her determination.
Her need to experience the world hands on, fully, now.

She’s not being difficult.
She’s being Courtney.

And my job, as hard as it is, is to keep her safe while she explores a world that was never designed for her kind of curiosity.