When I first had my baby, I got a lot of comments on the theme of "hooray for you: look at the perfect person you've created." I looked, and he was perfect, so I accepted credit as I am wont to do when I get a compliment on my baby. After all, I was pregnant for nine months, and those first few weeks of nursing were no picnic. Even so, I felt a little sneaky for accepting credit for my baby's perfect little body when I really hadn't specifically designed his elbow dimples, digestive tract, earlobes, etc.
Well, I'm earning that credit one day at a time. This last week he has been determined to find a way to bruise, gash, puncture, break, and shatter any and all of his heretofore perfect body parts. This project, which consumes all of his waking hours (read: all of my waking hours), has resulted in a skinned knuckle, three lumps on his head, a lost toenail, and a scabbed nose. The nose is the real trophy of the week; the attention it brings from every person who sees him makes it well worth his sidewalk tumble. He has been doggedly attempting a repeat performance ever since. Imagine what he could have cheerfully done to himself had I not been waddling behind him all week, hunched in toddler-snatching pose.
That's all I have to say. I don't have a conclusion, but even if I did, I don't have time to say more because, well, I need to track down my baby before he hurls himself into a post (again).
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1 comment:
I feel really bad about the "sidewalk rash" on his nose; I was standing closer to him at the time than anyone. Thank you for being calm and non-accusing.
The one child that I had who seemed to be bent on similar self-mutilation was you. Between the age of one and three, you usually had a scab somewhere on a knee, elbow, or face. You were particularly prone to opening a split on your lower lip -- twice against a living room end table -- and I was told more than once that it looked you had been in a boxing ring. My mother understood though. My younger brother was like that too.
Good luck as you try to keep him unscarred. Give it 13, 14 years; he'll grow out of it.
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