We're accident-prone, Jim and me, especially since the boy started walking. I've stubbed my toes and burnt my fingers trying to stop him from getting into stuff, and Jim? Oh, Jim. He's gotten more injuries in the past couple weeks than in the entire first 11 months of his life.
TWO cuts, look closely.
Take this one, for example. He was happily playing with a potato in the kitchen while I washed dishes (yeah, we're cheap - potatoes are just as fun as real toys to a baby). Suddenly, I hear a "Eh. Eh? BOOHOOHOO!" Yes, he actually goes "BOOHOOHOO" when he cries. Anyway, I look around and he's filched a cat food lid out of the trash and there is blood EVERYWHERE. I take the lid from him - it's red and slick. His hand is covered, with blood running down his arm. It's on the floor; he's slipping in it. Guess it's time for Jim's first ER visit.
Doesn't he look pitiful, dancing on his own bloodstains?
Fortunately, after rinsing him off, and dousing everything in hydrogen peroxide, and bloodying several rags and the bedspread and Noah's phone, it turned out that it wasn't actually as dire as it first appeared. Jim handled the whole situation with considerably more stoicism than I did. He quit crying as soon as I picked him up, and was overall much more interested in leaving bloody fingerprints everywhere than in being comforted.
There were a bunch of minor bumps and bruises in between, but the second MAJOR injury happened about a week later. Noah and I were just getting dressed to take Jim on-base for official registration for Tricare. Jim, meanwhile, was just sitting on the bed minding his own business. Unfortunately, Jim REALLY likes to walk now, and when he's walking, he's not so hot at judging distances. So Noah came out of the bathroom, and Jim walked over to meet him, and BAM. Flipped right off the edge of the bed, did a full 360 in the air, and landed right on his head. First reaction: "Holy shit, make a noise, don't be dead." Second reaction: "Holy shit, move your limbs, don't be paralyzed." Luckily for Jim and us and the future of the US Navy (says Noah), he was neither dead nor paralyzed. He did get a hell of a bruise on his temple, though, which I planned to photograph later.
At least it covers up the bruise, right?
Long story short, I never got a chance to take a picture of Jim's pretty bruise because several hours later he randomly stumbled and fell face-first into a dumbbell in the corner. Once again, blood EVERYWHERE, completely covering his face and his shirt and Noah's chest and all of our hands. Babies have a lot more blood than you'd expect. I think they pack them with extra because so much is bound to get lost.
Jim doesn't give a crap about the blood on his shirt.
That was another "crap, are we gonna have to go to the ER?" moment, but again, things weren't nearly as bad as they initially looked. We're already starting to get more relaxed about his various knicks and scrapes, so I assume by the time we have another kid or two we're not even going to bother cleaning it off, just let the cats lick it up or something. Babies are pretty resilient.
Eating cheese like a bad-ass.