Oh, MAN.

Oh, we were smug. Oh how we preened. We never dropped her. She never rolled off the bed, off the couch. She never fell out of the car or off of the changing table. We. Were. Perfect. And so was Ava.

Ava's still perfect, of course. But us? We had it coming, I suppose.

Behold:

Here, we have the edge of the patio.

Looks innocent enough. Right next to the soft, cool, springy grass, where Ava loves to trot around and twirl. And trip. Yeah. Note to us: Ava trips. A LOT. Usually when she trips, she catches herself with her hands, or if she doesn't, she at least lands somewhere soft. Like on the grass. But Friday night, she caught herself with her HEAD right on the corner of the PATIO. And like INSTANTLY, a big ghastly goose egg (ah yes, now I know where that name comes from...) erupted on her creamy little forehead. OMG. Triage consisted of "OH JESUS! INSIDE! RIGHT NOW! WHAT DO WE DO? ICE! COLD! WE NEED COLD! IS SHE BLEEDING? NO? OK GOOD ICE! BINKY! CALM HER DOWN! YOU OK? I'M OK! SHE OK? I THINK SO BUT SHE'S PISSED! CALL THE NURSE'S LINE! HELLO NURSE'S LINE? HERE'S WHAT HAPPENED: NO VOMITING. JUST A SCRAPE. ABOUT AN INCH IN DIAMETER. LEFT TEMPLE. OK OK OK NO PAIN MEDS YET. KEEP AN EYE ON HER FOR 2 HOURS. THEN WAKE HER UP. OK OK OK. OK. WE'LL CALL YOU IF ANYTHING HAPPENS. OK YES WE'RE FINE TOO THANKS."

And we were smug because we survived it. Poor boopy, but we were all OK.

And then, dammit, she freaking did it again this morning.

Here, we have the corner of the activity cube.

Yeah, it's not angled off because it's pretty. Oh no. They cut the corner off of that bad boy because THEY KNEW what was going to happen. And a triangular flat surface, while still no picnic, is much much easier to deal with on impact than a pointy corner. OMG.

So here is her poor little melon.


I KNOW. OMG.

Here's what we have learned.

1. ICE. Do not pass Go; do not collect $200. Get a washcloth, dunk it in cold water, wrap it around an ice cube. That will work.
   
2. She will not like to have anything on her head. Doesn't matter. Do it. She'll get over being mad faster than I'll get over seeing a big awful pulsating goose egg on her little head.
3. She will crap her pants IMMEDIATELY when this happens. Doesn't matter. Keep the ice going. It's why she wears a diaper.
   
4. She's OK, even though it looks awful.
5. Always keep Sesame Street or Curious George on the DVR. At least 1 episode. They calm her down and give her something to focus on that will take her attention off of having something cold on her head.
6. People will look at her head, and the bruises, and then look at me, and then look back at her and then back at me when we go out in public. If they've had a toddler, that look is filled with sympathy, as they probably have their own horror stories to tell. If they haven't had a toddler, that look is filled with judgment and speculation, and they can blow it out their asses.

I think that's it. Yikes. Gravity: not just a good idea, it's the law.

...and a spare moment presents itself

Rob started traveling for his job last week. He'd gone out of town before, just for a day, I think, to Reno. But last week was the first Big Trip, which we'd all said we'd be OK about. And we were OK. But, damn, it's hard to split up like that. We take for granted the rhythm we develop when we know there's someone else helping keep it together every day. Sure, we have the fabled Routines, and the stuff that we know gets done at a certain time each day. But now we're dealing with a full-on hardcore toddler (srsly) and the routine sometimes falls prey to the whims of someone who cannot yet Use Her Words. Ack.

But we (all of us) survived last week. Rob was gone Sunday night through Friday night. God bless Southwest Airlines, which allows for the easy switching of flights, from, say, one from Portland with a layover in Sacramento that ultimately gets delayed to the point where the connection would be a moo point (anyone watch Friends? you know what I'm saying there...) to a nonstop PDX-LAS that leaves in 45 minutes that you can justbarelymake but it's OK because you bought Business Select (best spent twenty bucks in the travel industry).

He's on his way back to Portland tonight (delayed, actually, but it says it's boarding rightthisminute so that's good) and will be back Tuesday. We'll survive.

So to catch up....

Easter looked like this:


...and it was perfect.

Ava had her FIFTEEN MONTH OMG SHE'S FIFTEEN MONTHS checkup on Friday. She's 30-1/4 inches tall, 23.1 pounds. If childhood physical development had a bell curve (which it totally does...) she would be right smackdab in the middle, at the highest point, where Average resides. Awesome.

She knows so many words. Tonight, she helped me pick up her toys before bedtime. She smiles and giggles and waves and dances and oh, oh how she glares at you when she is displeased. Yikes. The condemnation she can conjure up is quite alarming (no idea where she gets that...).

Things are good. We're scrambling to maintain some semblance of sanity, and I think we succeed most of the time.

Go Go Bye

This is one of those times where my failure to adequately maintain a baby book past February 2009 is blatantly obvious, because where else would I possibly document such a milestone? Right.

This morning, Ava made a sentence. And she was very definitive about it. She meant what she said. I knew she meant it, because she was pointing at the time, and pointing means that she is totally serious.

So, we're gathering up to leave this morning. She has had her first breakfast (she's our little Hobbit: First Breakfast, Second Breakfast, Elevensies (snack, for the rest of us), Lunch, Second Snack, First Dinner, and Second Dinner) and she's out of her booster chair. We're both kind roaming around, picking stuff up that we're taking with us. I grab my purse and my go-cup of coffee. She grabs her jacket and her go-cup of water. She looks at me, points (so I know she is serious) and she says, "Go go bye" and then her pointing finger becomes a waving hand.

"Why yes," I say, "We are indeed leaving now. I'm glad you are ready." and we walk together to the car.

Such a big girl.