Stop counting how many times this week you've gotten up to change morning diapers. (actually, maybe only 2-3. He's awesome in the morning, FOR THE MOST PART, so I can go get my shower on.)
Stop counting how many hours you were with the baby all by yourself in the last month of Saturdays. (Every Saturday. Because he gets to go play hockey. EVERY SATURDAY. just saying...)
Stop counting how many times he's emptied the dishwasher. (ZERO.)
Or cleaned up after you cooked dinner. (ZERO.)
Or kept stuffing dirty diapers into a nearly-overflowing garbage pail, only to ask you as he runs out to play hockey, "hey babe - the nursery garbage needs to be taken out!"
Sorry, I let that get away from me for a second...
Anyways - so, stop keeping count. Got it.
Except, then on Saturday the following happened:
As you can see, Daddy was in charge as I was in and out of the room; until I heard a thud, following by banshee wailing - the kind where they just freeze, face all purply-red and Hulk-ragey? (And you're thinking, how has he not needed to take a breathe yet?!)
Daddy admitted he'd "dropped the ball, looked away for just a SPLIT SECOND!" and head-over-heels went Ben (who, after some ice pop, was fine...)
And all this happened just 7 days from the last incident - when we were down-the-shore for Labor Day Weekend (post to follow - because I started it, and then thought Let me wait until I get the GOOD pictures off my DSLR so I can use those instead of phone pictures! and there in "Drafts" the post has sat for days...)
We were in the shore house, and Daddy "dropped the ball, looked away for just a SPLIT SECOND!" and Ben had his first off-the-bed-bumped-his-head fall.
And on that note, the count is E=2, K=1.
(Because, there was that time MOOOOONTHS ago when I accidentally scratched his face while trying to catch him from falling.... in fact, because I was trying to PREVENT catastrophe, I think I only get 1/2 a point...)