The Dangers of Parenting

 With all of the parenting advice, tips, and tricks, and what to expects, no one ever tells you how dangerous it is.  My husband broke his toe on a stegosaurus a few months ago.  This morning (4:30 AM), I sleepily stumbled across the living room to my little man's room, and on the way had a very intimate encounter with the floor.  This was no dainty trip or innocuous slip; this was a full-body contact with the floor; I remember seeing and feeling my hair flying around and landing on my face, obscuring my view.   My hands were on the floor, as was my face, I somehow tweaked my back and got a bruise on my hip, but the greatest damage was to my toes, none of which were pointing the same direction.  I'm pretty sure I broke at least two, possibly 11.  (When there is that much pain, it is nigh impossible to distinguish one digit from the others.)  Besides this incident, I never had so many bruises, cuts, hard blows to the head, as I have since we brought our bundle of joy home.  I suppose athletes suffer more injuries, but they expect it.  A middle-aged suburban mom doesn't expect the kind of physical battering that comes with parenting.

You may be wondering about the caterpillar photo, and why I chose it for this post.  It is because I tried in my mind to focus on this photo to keep myself from focusing on the pain in my body as I laid in bed trying in vain to get in some ZZZs.  (And in case you were wondering, the emergency for which I was called into his majesty's room was that he wanted some water.)