…it’ll be a miracle.
Those were the words my hubbie just told me when I called him up to ask him to get band-aids on the way back from the doctor.

I was trying to cook breakfast this morning and the munchkin kept breaking into the new pantry and bringing me food items to indicate his gross displeasure that food wasn’t just miraculously appearing in front of him and I expected him to wait OMGFIVEMOREMINUTES until the eggs and croissants were cooked.

On the third trip of his into the pantry I hauled him out and put the cable on in the hopes that “Curious George” would distract him from his pursuit of food so I could check on the croissants that were cooking without him burning himself on the oven.

After I checked and found out they needed a little more time he left “Curious George” and came back to investigate the pantry again. I told him, “No! Mummy’s told you before don’t go in there!” the response was THUNK! SCREAM!!! as he dropped a can of soup and came running to me crying. I took him back into the living room and put him on the couch and then realized there was blood on my pants and on the tile floor. So apparently rather than me just scaring him into dropping the can by shouting it was that he actually dropped the can of soup on his foot and it gained first blood. Well, second blood his previous messy bloody injury was cutting his lip when he decided to see if he could knock the dining table chair over with his face and lost. Fun escapades of his first starting to walk.

He is now petrified of the pantry though, and any of the other closets which open the same way, as I went to the hall closet looking for band-aids and he freaked out and went and hid under his crib.

Hubbie should be here soon with band aids though, and the munchkin is happily eating his breakfast not too much the worse for wear.

Of all the things for him to inherit from me…accident prone-ness. Although I survived…so there is hope for him. But my Mum used to hate to get calls from my school, “Oh, God what’s she done now??” I have a vast collection of scars from broken finger bones to knees which had to be taped back together. I have only broken bones twice though and one of those was just two years ago. I chipped a bone in my finger when I was around eight or nine, and did the occult fracture of my elbow in September of 2005. Everything else was usually just bloody and messy but not broken. I can lay claim to having had six stitches in my mouth but not breaking my nose when I decided to argue with a gate and lost, much the same way the munchkin argued with the chair last year.