Plant Your Face

Oh my. Just when you think things are going fine, your baby decides that “Five Little Monkeys” needs to be acted out. I’m in the kitchen making coffee and Jess is on the bed watching the little one play with the Millie cat, when suddenly you hear that (now) familiar plop of body to floor with a thud. Then crying. Boohooing even. Barely breathing kinds of wailing. Clearly, she was injured.

So we examine the freshly-injured Emerson Kate and find a tiny cut on her lip and maybe a more bruised ego. But give it another 15 minutes and there’s a giant carpet burn from brow to chin. Makes me think, “why did you drag your face on the rug?” But clearly, a concerned parent wouldn’t actually ask such a question.

But we got her some fruit, a red-white-and-blue medley of raspberries, apples and blueberries (of course) and she was happy as a lark. Off to school it was soon after, scars from home to match. Jess had to tell the teachers that we’re not beating her. 

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