When I arrived home from work yesterday, I looked my babe over as I kissed him within an inch of his short life.
Dada actually noticed it first. "Is that a bruise on his forehead?" And it was.
The day before, he had bonked his head against the tile. Twice. Front and back. Just when we thought we were past this stage, 'cause, you know, he learned how to "bend in the middle".
Then, I was in the livingroom talking to his Dad when we both heard the inhale and the breathless crying. He was standing by a kitchen chair and best we can figure, he bounced up and down and hit his jaw on the chair.
Then, Cheerios for dinner as I kissed him and apologized profusely for not watching closer.
Then, bath water so hot his bum turned red.
Needless to day, by the time I went crawled into bed, my Mom-ego was pretty freakin bruised and battered.