Defibrillator machine

We're looking into installing a defibrillator machine in our living room. I figure we can train Emma to use it on me if no other adults are around. I'm having heart palpitations daily now that Grant is walking and climbing and we just feel like we want to be on the safe side and install the defib machine. Better safe than dead of a heart attack, right? Here's the latest example:

Last night, I'm in the kitchen getting the chicken prepped for dinner. Grant has a new habit of climbing up on Emma's stool and clinging to the countertop. He's safe climbing up but not so safe climbing down since his method for getting down is really just to take a giant step off the side. So, knowing this, I'm standing next to the stool so I can monitor it. He's also taken to hanging from the oven door to open it, so I have my knee up against the oven. My third mama eye on the back of my head tells me he's behind me, probably pushing the buttons on the dishwasher or pulling out all my cookie sheets. I turn around to wash the raw chicken slime off my hands and see he's standing on the blender box which is no where near a counter for him to hold on to. My heart races, I feel faint, take a few deep breaths, then use my forearms to lift him down before I wash off the raw chicken slime. As I'm washing my hands, he waddles over to the hot oven and opens the door. I race over to close the door and redirect him, dry my hands, and pick up the breakable stoneware to put the chicken in the oven. So I'm blocking the stool with one foot, holding the heavy breakable stoneware with one hand, opening the oven door with the other hand, and hip checking Grant to keep him from climbing into the oven. Have I mentioned I was on a business call also? As I'm closing the oven door, and turning around to locate Grant, a deafening crash echoes through the kitchen. Grant has thrown my glass bread pan with one hand and my metal bread pan with the other hand onto my stone floor. After I pick myself off the floor, pound my chest with my fist to restart my heart, and take a few deep breaths, I escort Grant out of the kitchen and praise God that nothing broke. Whew. What a 3 minutes that was.

Grant's other climbing trick is to push his wooden push cart into the middle of the room and climb up it. Again, safe on the way up, not so safe on the exit. Emma at least used to push the cart over to a wall before she climbed up it. He's also decided it's fun to stick his foot in the mailbox of his laugh and learn learning house and use it as a way to try and launch over the top of the house. It's a wonder we as a human race continue to procreate instead of having boys selected out via Darwinism.