bathroom gets remodeled, and so far it's been working out pretty well, other than the fact that I'm unable to take my usual "staying with my Mother" dose of Xanax, and their house hasn't been babyproofed. I'm a relatively laissez-faire parent, as you know, but I do find that it's sometimes difficult to find a balance between letting one's child take healthy risks and keeping him from seriously injuring himself. Trust me, this is no easy feat, especially when there are two sets of stairs at Casa Grandparents, and the Muffin Man wants nothing more than to swing from the bannisters like some sort of Cirque de Soleil act for the three and under set.
The other day Noah was having a grand ol' time throwing my shoes/purse/keys down the stairs, attempting to stick his head through the railings, and essentially using the bannister as his own personal monkey bars. I was sitting right there next to him, watching all of these goings on while dreaming of having a full time nanny, when Noah slipped on the carpeting and whacked his chin against the sharp corner of the bottom post. See, this is the thing about parenting: you can be completely focused on what your kid is doing (i.e. not checking Instagram or Facebook) and ready to catch them should the slightest thing go wrong, and yet somehow they still manage to hurt themselves. It absolutely boggles my mind. I was completely focused and watching this whole makeshift jungle gym activity progress, yet I somehow failed to rescue him before he fell, which is shocking considering how much faster my reflexes have gotten since I became the Mother of a toddler.
Based on how loudly Noah screamed I can tell you that it must hurt like Hell to bang your chin on a sharp piece of wood, especially when you simultaneously bite your tongue and scrape the skin off of one side of your jaw bone. My sweet little boy sat at the base of the stairs with a trickle of blood running out one side of his mouth and screaming at the top of his lungs while punching the offending bannister with his fists. I'm glad to see that my son isn't some kind of wilting violet who is afraid to hit back when attacked, but I'm not quite sure he understands that inanimate objects aren't swayed by his abuse.
Thankfully, he didn't need stitches, and the tongue bite was easily assuaged by giving him a (sugar-free) popsicle. He is, however, currently sporting a scabbed-over chin, a bruised face, and some really attractive rug burn on his left jaw, which makes me terribly thankful that we have no chance of running into my nosy neighbor anytime soon.
Bannister photo via Gareth Davies