"You shoulda seen dat guy! He musta been 3 feet tall! He outweighed me by at least 3 pounds!"
At least, that's his story and he's sticking with it.
I suspect it may be the first of many, since he got it while we were playing. He was running with a block in his hand when he tripped and fell. He landed on it face first and got the corner of the block right in his cheek. Suddenly all of those warnings about not running with sticks and/or scissors make more sense. Damn! He could've put his eye out with that thing!
In an instant I went from a good mommy playing with her baby to a horrible mom, allowing my child to play with implements of potential blinding doom.
He says he forgives me, so I guess it's OK.
Emma, not to be outdone, was attacked by one of our cats. No one was in the room at the time, so we have only the big ole scratch on her nose to go by. I'm assuming it was a kiss gone horribly wrong.
She's mostly healed up by now and has forgotten. The cat, on the other hand, has clearly learned that if he wants to smack babies, he just needs to wait until no one is looking.
You may note that I skipped the 19 month entry. I was busy...they got older...I can hardly get near them with a camera without them charging me and yelling, "Baby! Baby! Baby!" They desperately want to see the baby in the camera after I've taken the picture. Since they stand right on top of me, it's really hard to get any good pictures of them. Blah, blah, blah.
I'll try again at 20 months.
In other news, I still have a husband and elder daughter.
Although I'm thinking about trading her in for a puppy or something. Surely a puppy won't be rude to me all the time and completely ignore me when I talk to it. Surely it won't? I bet I could train up a really well behaved puppy, too.
I keep thinking it's just a stage. Unfortunately, I think this stage ends when the "tween" years start. Ugh. Then it goes to the teen years. Argh! Then suddenly it will be the college years. Whew! She'll go away to college and...ohmigod! At some point...there
At some point, I'm going to look back on her tantrums, the flinging herself to the floor (Which, by the way, she didn't do when she was two. Apparently she's making up for lost time now.), the near constant whining and I'll laugh. I'm sure of it. I'll wonder what I got so stressed out over compared to whatever the current Caitlin stressor is and I'll laugh at my naivete.
In the meantime, I think I prefer the trauma of a black eye. It's not so bad.
See? You can't even see it from this side.