That poor girl. She’s two, you know. Has big sisters who are bigger and stronger and taller and (apparently) more coordinated.
In the past 30 hours (from this writing), she has fallen from playground equipment (six feet up, maybe a bit less), bruised and scratched her chin, cut into the inside of her lower lip with her teeth, fell from a tall (counter/bar sized) stool and bloodied her nose and bruised her forehead, and bounced haphazardly on her toddler bed and re-bloodied her nose. I am not counting the full-force belly flops she does on the floor when bounding somewhere suddenly, or the literal bouncing-off-walls that happens concurrently.
I think she’s like her daddy. Tightly wound bundle of excitement spiked with caffeine and plutonium. I suppose the junk food we’ve had around here lately hasn’t helped. Speaking of, I’ve bought marshmallows for some holiday gift recipes, and she got into one bag the other day. Ate a couple. Next time I saw the bag, it was half empty! Giant, jet-puffed marshmallows, half gone?!? I put the remainder of the bag up high, on our 6.5′ tall fridge. They were safe there. For a few days. I found 2 left in the bag the other night. And she’d taken liberties with my sharpie markers that are up there too, decorating Daddy’s menu plan very nicely. Hm.
Her daddy was like this, I think. His mom told me of waking in the night and checking on him, only to find him sitting on the stovetop fiddling with the knobs. God’s grace? I think so! When we found Organique in the same place, it was (barely) daylight and she had emptied the garlic powder into a still-dirty skillet, and was only fiddling with the onion powder. Hubby now puts the baby gate at the top of the stairs before he leaves for work!
I’m hoping to keep the facial injuries to a minimum, at least long enough to enjoy holiday festivities without sidelong glances from the relatives. Though just keeping her alive might be a more reasonable goal.