My entire life my Mama has been telling me to slow down. When I would stub a toe for the umpteenth time or run into the wall that was always there (yes people, I run into walls) she would shake her head ever so slightly, ask if I was alright and tell me to slow down. This is not just a childhood memory folks, this is current day too. I have not become any more graceful with age and I have not, as of yet, learned to slow down.
It would appear that G has inherited this trait from me. The little guy started walking at the end of March and now he RUNS. Runs everywhere. His upper half runs faster than his feet can move and so he falls. A lot.
Nine times out of ten he gets right back up and keeps on running. But those tenth falls are tough, they are the falls that are audibly painful. Those are the falls that come with thunks, or smacks or loud crashes. Those are the falls that come with tears and screams, or worse The Silent Cry (you know the one- open mouth screaming with no noise or breath). So I scoop him up and check him out and cover him with cuddles and kisses and love and he recovers and hits the ground running once more.
Lil' G never stops moving and exploring and investigating and giving me gray hairs. The other evening we were playing Chris and my bedroom. I was standing one foot away on the phone with Chris when G, in a matter of 5 seconds, managed to open the drawer of a table and pull it over. I was able to catch it, preventing the whole thing from flattening him, but his arm got pretty well smashed. It was a Silent Cry moment and even more it was a "what do I do now" moment. His arm was bruised immediately but by the time I got a trip to urgent care approved by our insurance he was laughing and playing and his arm wasn't even swollen. We packed up and trecked over to the urgent care any way. This happened at 6:15 and the urgent care was advertised as open until 7, so imagine my surprise when we walked in at 6:30 to be told they were no longer seeing patients.
At this point my munchkin was giggling and waving a sippy cup around with his "bad" arm. so I turned around and took him home and snuggled him extra long and put him to bed. He is fine, his arm is fine, I will be fine eventually (Mama guilt). However, there is sometime wrong with saying you are open until 7 if you are not.
I guess if he ever has an eleventh fall I will know better.