My poor, poor baby. In just the last 72 hours my one year old has fallen off the kitchen table (cut above her right eye), walked behind an elliptical while in motion (make that a black eye), and her big brother, our three year old, gave her a haircut. Snip!
I once heard a doctor say that if he sees a one year old without at least one bump or bruise on his head, he thinks there’s something wrong developmentally. Bumps and bruises are all part and parcel of being a healthy, rambunctious one year old.
You see, one year olds like to test the slipperiness of feetie pajamas whilst on kitchen table tops. One year olds finally put two and two together and discover how to push around the kitchen chair until-voila! the world is their oyster. One year olds negotiate turns at neck breaking speeds because, after all, the ground is only about 9 inches away from their soft, padded diaper.
And, of course, all of these daredevil stunts and shenanigans lead to goose eggs, Derma-Bond, and cold compresses. We had a check-up at the doctor’s this week and no one mentioned CPS, so I figure this is all normal “wear and tear.” But more than I fear the CPS making the wrong assumptions about my parenting, I fear one day my baby girl will have a conversation with her future husband that will go something like this:
He’ll say something about how nervous he is about their impending baby’s overall health–will he be athletic, will he be smart, will he struggle socially? And my girl will comfortingly respond, “Honey, it’s okay. My genes are actually a lot smarter than I represent! I figure my IQ would be at least 20 points higher if I hadn’t suffered all those injuries to the head as a one year old. Trust me! My eggs are smarter than I lead you to believe.”
Poor, poor girl… Maybe I could get one of those little baby helmets you see around. I don’t think our doctor would prescribe one just to avoid bumps and spills, but if he took a good look at her brother’s handiwork as a beautician, he just might agree the insurance should pick up the tab.
On a happy side note, that same baby girl learned how to snap this week. Really, truly snap her teeny tiny, little fingers. Click-click-clicking around the house all day long like a beatnik. Both hands too. (Well, if that’s not assurance she’s still all there…)
Yes, she is one cool cat Daddy-O. Hmmmm…perhaps even cool enough to pull off her new coif. Ya…sending out the vibe. I like it. Before I know it, her new do’ will be all the rage at play-group.
Can you dig it?
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