Head Banging

If you survive to read this, Emerson, I’ll be pretty surprised. Now that you’re thinking you can stand up and walk, even though you really can’t, you’re needing to develop a little healthy fear to go along with that bravery. Diving off the bed, using the stroller as a ladder, climbing up on our pant legs, you are figuring out this whole standing thing at just 9 months.

But you don’t need any help hurting yourself. Between your mom smashing your face on the back of the tub and your dad knocking you over onto your head in the kitchen, you’ve made that watermelon-on-concrete sound more than I’d care to say. It’s like you’re a 90’s hard rocker or something. I’m worried about your well-being when your mom heads off to New Orleans next month and you’re here alone with me.

You’re not a fan of being changed on your changing pad. In fact, you downright hate it. We have resorted to giving you a toy, or really anything, to keep your attention when we change you. More often than not, I give you whatever I can reach once I put you down. Typically that’s your Honest Healing Balm, which features great healing powers and two very sharp plastic corners. Yesterday one of those dangerous corners hit you right in the eye.  Ugh.

So as I said, if you’re reading this post in the future, we must have discovered some sort of baby-proofing device that saved you or perhaps a regenerative chamber to store you in. You’re welcome.

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