With Miles growing increasingly dexterous (he may have managed to open his own door a couple times…or we just didn’t shut it all the way), Jaclyn saw fit to outfit every door in the house with safety knob covers. Which not only means our house is now Miles-proof, it’s also DAD-PROOF.
The covers, which appear to be made for different, much larger knobs, house the handles inside of a cavernous expanse. Gripping and turning only serves to send the casing rattling around the knob; no, to open it, you must insert your fingers into holes on either side of the cover, grip the knob within with your thumb and index finger only, then strain your wrist as you try to twist the knob enough to gain access to the room beyond.
Jaclyn seems to have less trouble with this because 1) she’s got smaller hands, 2) she’s a lefty, which seems to help, and 3) she made a Faustian pact with the devil to ensure she could continue opening doors. With my long, spindly fingers and large hands, every twist of a knob now pushes me that much closer to developing carpal tunnel syndrome.
The Perils (& Pride) of Paternity 