Mother of the year

by Katie on July 30, 2013

We are just shy of six months into this whole parenting thing and my husband has already given me this distinguished title. I only wish I could say it was meant in earnest.

You see, it was bad enough that I routinely “bump” our daughter’s precious noggin on doorframes as we pass from room to room in our home. (I used to slam my own face/body into them; now that there’s a baby on my hip, she takes the beating for my clumsiness.) Yes, I know how awful that is. But she has yet to so much as blink when this happens, let alone make a peep, so I’m trusting it can’t be too painful as long as that is the case.

But this past week?

I drew blood on her perfect face, y’all. Drew. Blood.

How awful is that!?

It was all very innocent:  she was standing in my lap, bobbled some, and as I was rearranging my hold, my fingernail caught her sweet face. But I still pretty much felt like the worst person ever.

Here is the damage, two or three days later:

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Healing nicely, as you can see, but not helping this guilty Mama-heart at all.

Now, in search of some comfort and encouragement, I sent a picture of the fresh wound to my loving, supportive, dear husband. You can see how well that quest went below:

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Not that I was surprised…

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