I was never really an accident-prone kid. It's not that I was particularly clever or coordinated (I was neither), but I was sheltered. When I was a toddler I was watched like a hawk by my parents or grandparents at all times, and I was pretty much protected from calamity by their attentiveness. I think the only "major" injury I had at this age was when I pulled a coat rack down on top of myself when I was two. Of course I had a few injuries as I grew up, but honestly - I think I can count them on one hand! Skinned my knee (age 3), got hit in the eye with a plastic toy helicopter (age 4), fell off my bike and got gravel in my knee (with training wheels, age 8), fell off a horse 3 miles down a mountain trail (age 9), got hit in the shin with a softball (age 14). I won't count the three lung collapses (technically they weren't my fault!) or the time I sprained my ankle falling down the stairs at Michael's house a few years ago (since I was an adult then). But really, if you consider Michael's accident history (which is too lengthy to post!), I was doing pretty well for myself.
Fox is Michael's son, through and through.
My kid is determined to do anything in his power to get hurt. He's progressed so quickly from an immobile baby-blob to this on-the-go-ain't-goin-down-til-the-sun-comes-up rambunctious little boy. Most of the time he moves before he considers the consequences, and this has resulted in many a bumped noggin and crying fit. He stands up in the bathroom near the space heater; he falls down and hits his head on the space heater. He stands up near the bathtub while I'm taking a shower; he slips and bumps his head on the base of the toilet. He crawls too fast; he loses his momentum and faceplants. He leans too far over the makeshift baby gate (two ottomans placed side-by-side), he bumps his head on the linoleum in the kitchen. Today he was crawling and his hand got stuck underneath him, and he bonked his head on the leg of the wooden chair I was sitting in. He now has a nice big goose egg on the side of his head.
I'm not sure I'm mature enough to handle being the mom of an accident-prone baby boy. Every bump, bruise, and goose egg makes me want to cry right along with him and give him 4 million and 2 kisses to make sure it's all better. Michael told me to be prepared for this. I guess I'm just going to have to buck up and deal with each fall as it comes. And I'm sure they will come, as Fox is on the verge of walking.
I'll deal with it, but that won't make it hurt me any less each time he bumps his sweet little head.
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Boys are tough. 20 minutes later, I was still trying to baby him and he had forgotten all about it.