Holy Lord, Almighty.

Children.

They make us laugh until our cheeks and bellies ache, they frustrate us beyond the brink of insanity, and they can suspend our heart rate in an instant. Case in point:

Last night, after attending a softball game with my sister, Danielle, I returned home to find my son still up at 9:15 pm. Bedtime in this house is usually 8:00-8:30 for persons less than 3 feet tall. He was cozied up in my husband's lap, oohing and aahing over Matt's computer game (another story entirely). Matt claims he laid him down twice, and after a screaming/crying fit both times, he gave up and decided to wait until "The Mommy" got home.

So Avery and I sit and cuddle for a bit (I didn't expect to get this opportunity so late in the evening, after all!), and about 10 minutes later, I announce: "Ok, time to go night-night. Let's go." Avery, being the good little trooper he usually is, walks toward his bedroom with minimal complaining. I open his bedroom door, and he goes running in, past his crib, to the opposite wall. He then loses his balance, plops down on his butt, pitches forward, and face-plants right onto the corner of our baseboard heater.

Oh Lordy.

(This would be an instant in which my heart rate was suspended indefinitely.)

I race over to him. He's already wailing. His hands are plastered to his little face, which is the color of a ripe tomato. As I pry them away, I see blood. (I'd just like to make it known...I am the calm one. Matthew is a blubbering sack of overreaction in instances like these.) I walk out of Avery's bedroom, cradling him in my arms, grab the first thing I see (the bib from supper), and apply it to his cut. Then, with the most serene voice imaginable, I ask Matt to please get me a cold washcloth. At this point, my husband is displaying his "Oh Shit" look, and goes into a tirade about suing our apartment managers.

We stopped the bleeding. Matt finally calmed down a little. Luckily, my mother, who is a nurse, happened to be in Fargo last night. She came over to check it out and give her input on whether a doctor visit or stitches were necessary. A little Liquid Bandaid, and a little extra TLC, and our little Clumsy Clyde was off to bed.

Another victory for "The Mommy."