Until recently, our family room furniture and other decor was done in a style that could only be called Early Toddler Period. Our sofa, loveseat and endtables acted as blockers on one side of the room, while the World's Longest Baby Gate anchored the other. The only other piece of furniture in the vicinity was our television -- which, in our house, is also a form of child containment.

But MJ began to climb over endtables to escape to the delicious world outside our family room, visiting such exotic locales as the foyer and powder room. So we dumped the gate. Her world expanded by several hundred square feet. My nerves frayed at about the same rate, as entire rolls of Charmin disappeared into the toilet and kitchen counters suddenly had to be clutter-free. But at least the change satisfied her toddler need to ... skip around constantly.

Or not.

"Wanna go outside," she started saying, puckering her bottom lip, shuffling around with her best moping posture. "Mommy, please go outside?"

Unfortunately, we have a storm drainpipe at the back of our property, which adds to the already thriving paranoia I have about letting MJ run around in the backyard, out in the open, as if this were the wholesome 1950's, for Heaven's sake! So we compromised. She would play on the deck, which had a gate that enclosed it. She got to spend time in the fresh air; I got to tend to a baby while keeping an eye on MJ. That worked for a while ... until it didn't.

"Mommy, I want to go out on the grass," she would say, looking longingly beyond her picketed area, as if there were sparkling jewels awaiting her.

Sigh.

Ever since Little L came along -- and even before she was born, when pregnancy meant a lack of romping mobility and oxygen supply on my part -- my conscience has been vulnerable to the things MJ doesn't get anymore (mainly, all of my attention). The age when she wants the boundaries of her world to expand has coincided with a time when my own boundaries have shrunk to protect an infant. Trips to the playground are delayed or postponed indefinitely to make time for baby naps. Most days, I'm OK with it; it's a great lesson to learn that you share your world with a lot of other people, and there's no better person to teach you that lesson than a sibling. Life is messy; but the mess can also be beautiful.

Still, I know MJ gets bored and frustrated, always waiting for her turn. So, a process that began with tearing down a gate ended with putting up a fence. Randy and I couldn't wait for the fence to go up, so MJ would have more space to go out and run around and play with the dog to her heart's content. We constantly asked her if she was excited about it, talking it up in a way that only revealed our own glee. And then the big day came. The fence went up. MJ went out.

Ten minutes later, she was at the side gate, shaking it, crying, unfairness heaving through her with every huge sob.

"Mommy, I can't get out! Need to get out! Help!"

I'm sometimes amazed that kids and parents ever get along with one another; we have such different needs. One needs to explore; the other needs to protect. One sees possibilities; the other sees dangers. One knows just little enough about the world to live each day with abandon; the other knows too much, or hears too much, to let that happen. It's a worthwhile balance for which I'm grateful, a give-and-take that surely keeps the world spinning at the right angle.

Still, she's not getting out that gate until she's in college.