The Climber

The 3-Year-Old Climber — Tiny Mountain, Big Problems

Let me introduce you to my tiny mountaineer. He’s only 3, but he’s got the heart of a daredevil and the climbing skills of a professional ninja… or maybe a tiny monkey on crack. No matter how many gates, safety rails, or “no climbing” signs I put up, he’s already found a way to turn the whole house into his personal Everest.

We built a huge outdoor play area — swings, slides, a little castle — the works. I thought, Finally, some safe fun for the kids. Yeah, that lasted about five minutes. Because while the big kids are happily swinging away, my little climber has already scaled the kitchen sides, balanced on top of the window sill, and is currently sitting proudly on the top bunk of his brother’s bed like he just won Olympic gold.

And the worst part? Sometimes, it’s totally hilarious. Like when he does it without even thinking, like it’s completely normal to just… climb. No nerves, no hesitation—just pure toddler instinct. It’s like living with a tiny, reckless Spiderman.

Other times? It’s bloody terrifying. The panic kicks in the second he gets within arm’s reach of danger. I leap up faster than the a cat avoiding a bath, shouting, “Get down, before you fall and break your neck!” I’ll admit — I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve scrambled to catch him or lunge into a rescue position. My insides squeal every time I see him teetering perilously on the edge of the sofa or hanging off the windowsill like some tiny Indiana Jones.

And I’m DONE. Honestly, I’m over it. His annoying climbing shit is old now. I’ve told him a million times—“No climbing! It’s dangerous!”—but he just looks at me with those cheeky eyes, like I’m the biggest killjoy in the universe. Sometimes I just want to yell, “Stop climbing or I’m selling up and moving to a cave—where you can climb all you want!”

But here’s the thing—deep down, I get it. His fearless spirit is what makes him so funny and loveable. But I’ve also realised that one day, I might turn my back for one second and he’ll actually fall. And that’s the tricky part—because even though I get annoyed, I still panic like my heart’s about to leap out of my chest every time I see him climbing that ridiculous mountain of cushions or scampering onto the kitchen worktop.

Honestly? I’m exhausted.

Some days I just want to shout, “Enough, climb-free zone!” but he doesn’t care. He just scales higher, laughs louder, and keeps being that tiny, wild explorer I can’t quite keep up with.

So for now, I’ve accepted that my house will be a constant construction site of chaos—cushions, chairs, and every piece of furniture my little daredevil can turn into a climbing frame. Because having a fearless little adventurer is kind of adorable… until you’re frantically jumping up every five minutes, praying he doesn’t turn into a human pancake.

Lesson learned?

No matter how much I tell him “no climbing,” he’ll find a way. Maybe I should just buy him a tiny harness—at this point, safer for everyone. But for now, I’m just done with his “annoying” climbing shit. It’s exhausting, terrifying, and sometimes funny as hell. And honestly? I wouldn’t change it for the world.