Good. So here's mine.
I let Owen burn his hand yesterday. And bad enough for the doctor to think it warranted a personal audience with her. (Although not as bad as the bandage makes it look. A few band-aids would do the job, but he just won't leave those alone. And the last thing I need right now is to have to call poison control and tell them my son has used his bandages as Silver Sulfadiazine flavored chewing gum.)
So was it a hot saucepan in which I had just lovingly boiled organic peas for him?
Or the light bulb under which we sat reading educational books?
Nope. While I stood at the bathroom mirror applying eyeliner, sweet baby reached up and stuck his hand into the jaws of my flat iron. He cried so hard the tears actually jumped off of his face, and he kept holding his hand out away from his body like it didn't belong to him anymore. Pit.Uh.Ful.
Thankfully his wonderful pediatrician had us in her office within the hour, dressed his wounds and declared that he would be good as new by next week.
Still, I was feeling pretty down about it all after I put Owen to bed last night. So I decided today would be All Owen Day. No errands. No chores. No self-grooming. (Folks, I haven't even brushed my teeth yet, and I'm wearing flannel gingerbread man pj bottoms with a sweatshirt that dates back to my tween years.)
The first 3 hours of AOD were full of moments for the Mommy Blogger Archives: rolling on the floor in a field of pillows, making silly robot noises until Owen's giggles turned into cackles, Owen charging across the room to bear hug me.
But then it happened. A 15-second lapse. I was still in the room with him, less than 10 feet away, but I let him slide into my periphery for about 15 seconds, and that's when he attempted to stand on our ottoman, which has wheels, which rolled out from under him and deposited him face-first onto the hardwood floor. More jumping tears.
And now, in addition to having a lobster claw for a left hand, Owen's swollen upper lip and jaw make him look like the hairless baby brother of the Geico Caveman.
Phew! Glad to be able to just put that out there. So how about you? Ever tried to kill your kid? Or want to share how your own parents' negligence nearly led to your demise? C'mon, I double-dog dare you to make me feel better.