The Kid is up to three words now. "Dada", "Baba", and "Dog". Although I am generally included in the meaning of "Dada", I have to admit that I did feel a little slighted when he started in with "Dog" this weekend. We don't even call Moe "the dog"--or at least, we only do it rarely. Twelve hours(ish) of good, strong labor and he's saying "dog"....sigh.
But maybe he's just upset that I gave him his first black eye this weekend.
OK, technically, he did it. I just failed to prevent it.
We were hanging out upstairs on our bed, which is, thankfully, only box springs and a mattress--so not too high off the floor. And the little booger just moved faster than I thought he could. He went headfirst--scariest "crack" I've ever heard. The longest two seconds of my life later, he started screaming. Then he cried himself to sleep.
Which completely freaked me out. Because after a knock like that, of course, the question in your mind is, "Is he tired? Or is he unconscious?"
So I woke him up...every fifteen minutes for two hours, at which point we both decided that further attempts to sleep were silly, so he got up and played. And was fine, except that he had a nice shiner on his left eye.
I would post a picture, but it was just too sad to look at. I think this is one parenting moment that we don't need to record photographically for posterity.