Of Toddlers, Broken Noses, and the WWF

CJ broke my nose on Sunday. The last thing I remember is seeing the back of his head, then I saw fireworks and rainbows. I heard a loud crack and thought one of my teeth had been broken, but a look in the mirror showed something else. The tip of my nose was going a different direction than normal, and my nostrils were just about swollen closed. Some ice and a phone call to my family physician (my step-mom), and I figured out that the septal cartilage was likely cracked. He hit me low enough in my face that my bridge isn't too bad, and I'm not all that black and blue, but my upper palette aches, and my whole face just plain hurts.

And then it got me thinking...it's a bit surprising that it took this long to happen! My toddler is strong, tall, and does not stop moving. Ever. Toddlers are like big puppies in a way...they get so big so fast, but are completely unaware of their own strength and new-found size, and bulldoze their way though life without being aware of their bodies in spacial relation to other things. Last night when we were reading stories, he knocked me two more times in other places on my face.

I have also realized that living with a toddler is like signing up to be on the WWF, but I don't get to write my own fake back story or wear a leather halter outfit with fringe and sequins. Or more importantly, get fake injuries.

In the immortal works of Marcia Brady, "Ow my nose".