This past Saturday afternoon, Kenny and I were innocently playing in his room (I was even standing two feet from where he was) and he tripped on a book on the floor and walloped his head right into the corner of the dressing table.
I can’t even begin to describe the feeling I had of my heart hitting the back of my throat. He was stunned for a half second, then started to wail. No little boo-boo sniffles, but the real deal screams of honest pain. I wasn’t even sure what part of his head he hit, and as I cradled his shaking body in my arms, I pulled back and saw an enormous purple welt start to grow on his forehead. Casey had gone on a quick run to rent a movie, and as he walked back into the house, even he was shocked by the size of the bruise. Kenny wanted nothing to do with an ice pack on the head either. I couldn’t even bribe him with ice cream. I finally managed to get him interested in a bag of frozen peas, then got him distracted with a cartoon, and we sat on the couch for close to an hour with him nestled in my arms, and Casey and I taking turns holding the peas and ice packs over his head.
He’s fine now, and the bruise, while quite noticeable, is nowhere near as horrible as I thought it would be. But everytime I think about his soft little head hitting that corner, I get nauseous. Lord help me when he starts riding a skateboard. Oh, and he did carry that bag of peas around with him the rest of the day. That was pretty funny. Funny until he was going to bed and wouldn’t let them go. (Who needs a teddy bear when a ziplock bag of frozen green giant veggies will do the trick??)
On a lighter note, my parents are here visiting for the week (we’ve been having so much fun, it’s been hard to slip away to write!). Kenny is loving it. My neices call them “Grammie” and “Grampy,” which Kenny has morphed into “Damnie” and “Dampy” and there is nothing sweeter than watching him run through the house yelling, “Dampy? Damnie?” They arrived in their RV, which is the size of our house (ok, it’s not quite that big… ok, it almost is) with their King Charles Spaniel, Madison, whom Kenny calls “Manny.” Kenny is infatuated, and takes great sport in chasing her through the yard, trying to hug her. Dudley is trying to decide whether or not she would make a good snack:
And finally, just for fun, here’s a picture of Kenny that my mom had on her camera from the day before we moved out to Arizona… where did my baby go, and who is that little boy?!?!