Miles to Go Before We Sleep

It is nighttime. With the children in bed, there is tea. A bit of television. My wife and I sit on our couches and talk in quiet voices, planning our summer. I leaf through a magazine article about cave diving. And then, suddenly from upstairs there is a heavy thump, like someone dropping a bowling ball.   
We sprint up to Tess's room, and find her not in her crib but instead on the floor, in a heap, wailing. She is as shocked as we are. As we squeeze her tightly and make sure she is uninjured, we realize that the game has changed forever. For the first time, she has jumped over the crib rail.  We are so hosed.  
Early on, with Tess we took the standard childproofing measures, with cabinet locks and outlet covers, but nevertheless we constantly deal with household dangers when it comes to her. For example, anything within reach can go into her mouth these days. This includes many, many things that are not food, but are simply items that we happen to leave around for more than a minute, on a tabletop or counter, or on the floor:  shoes, LEGOs, pens and pencils, Rainbow Loom bracelets, hair rubberbands, headphones, wallets, diapers and packages of wipes, bottles of lotion, kitchen utensils, and iPhones. 
Her oral stage is so different from Dana's, and not just because it has gone on for so long. For one thing, we can't just move the dangerous object and redirect her, the way you do with a baby who's chewing on stuff. We wanted her to have object permanence, the understanding that objects still exist even when she can't see them. Does she have it now? Yep. Moving the choking hazards away from her does not stop her pursuit of them. Putting them in your pocket will send her digging in there. She is relentless.   
So now that her crib can no longer contain her, it seems our only option is to strip down her room entirely. Nothing can be plugged in, even behind furniture--unlike a younger kid, she can get anywhere now, and will stop at nothing to chew on the cords. The pictures of her grandparents, in frames on her dresser? Those will have to go too. After all, she's so tall that she can reach them from the floor.   
And even if the room is empty, there is still the practical matter of where she will sleep. She can't go into a big-girl bed. We know this because when we bring her into our bed, within seconds she likes to maneuver her little ass toward the edge, and then push off toward the floor, head first. Some manufacturers have come up with "safety beds," with tall sides of oak and Plexiglas, featuring locking casters and mattresses that don't have gaps where they meet the frame. But putting aside the prices of these beds (thousands of dollars), those beds would prevent Tess from ever leaving home. As it is now, she sleeps in a Pack 'n' Play, a portable playpen that's pretty similar to her crib. But once she has one of these mega-beds, we won't be able to take her anywhere that doesn't have one. Hotel rooms? Impossible. Guest rooms in relatives' houses? Not a chance.    
It's such a simple thing, a thing we all do every day of our lives:  sleeping, in a bed, at night. But this is a real head-scratcher. How can we keep her safe? For now we plan to gate her room, so she can't leave, but we keep her door open, in order to hear her. At the top of the stairs is a second gate, which is locked at all times. The bathroom door is perpetually closed, as are all other bedroom doors. In her room, we are gradually removing everything below the four-foot mark, because her reach is quite high. She's in the Pack 'n' Play for sleeping. And we are listening at all times for the dreaded thump, from up there.