Most of the time, I feel like we’re past the stage where my days are consumed by trying to keep toddlers, who apparently have an inherent death wish, from doing something to compromise their well-being. Yes, I know, we have the scary teenage years ahead of us, times three. I’ll deal with that at some point. And the typical mom-worry is still currently always in the back of my mind, like “What if they don’t look both ways?” or “What if they talk to a stranger?”
However, I think you catch my drift…I’m no longer concerned about my toddler standing up on his little table and falling off (been there), or sticking his finger in a light socket (done that – well, Luke tried really hard to do this once but escaped injury) or my baby crawling out the back door (true story).
However, twice in the last couple of days, I’ve questioned whether you ever really step away from the “just keeping them alive” mentality.
On Tuesday evening, the 5 of us were outside enjoying the cool weather, and I was up on the deck throwing pop flies for the boys to catch down on the ground. After a bit our neighbor brought over his grown son’s old baseball backstop, and he gave it to the boys. They were eager to try it out, so they went to the garage for a bunch of balls and a bat so Matt could do soft-toss for them (they just hit the ball into the net instead of for distance).
I looked up just in time to see it happen, but not close enough to try and stop it…Bennett was swinging the bat full-on, and in the middle of his swing, he was going to hit Jack Henry. He did hit him, but thankfully, it was in the front of the shoulder, and not the face as I’d feared. He cried, Bennett cried, and I cried out of sheer relief it wasn’t his face, neck or head. He bruised pretty badly but has used his arm fine since then, so I think he’s fine.
So we survived all of that, and then this morning, I told Jack Henry to get a pair of his little scissors out, so that we could work on a project. He picked the only pair of kid scissors that have a slightly more pointed tip. No big deal; he knows how to walk safely with them, and he does a good job cutting, so I wasn’t worried. I told him I’d be just a minute while I loaded the dishwasher.
And I turned around to see him sticking the scissors into the waistband of his shorts, where he thought he might carry them.
Or puncture his liver, whichever comes first.