It is the new theme of D's life at the moment. Bruises. Ah, the heavy price to pay of being able to toddle.
The particularly nasty one is the enormous shiner that he now has gracing his right eyelid, thanks to a head-on collision with the corner of the coffee table the other day. He looks like some sort of wounded little prize fighter and I dread to think what other people are thinking when they see him - I feel like I might as well be wearing a huge flashing sign that says 'yep, I'm one of those BASTARDS who abuses her child' or something similar. I was tempted to fashion him an eye patch in a piratey sort of style, or even just sticking a plaster over it, so people would presume he'd had some sort of surgical procedure instead, but then I realised that was a bit silly. So I endured the disapproving looks. Not for the first time either (lashings of guilt, oh god, am I a shite parent? Argh!!!)
The bruised buttocks were courtesy of him insisting he could walk unassisted in the park yesterday, despite at that present moment toddling down a fairly steep hill - and then falling on to his knees then his bum. It actually was ever so slightly comedic, it really reminded me of the old Flintstone's cartoons, you know, when Fred Flintstone is about to run, and his legs just whirl maniacally round on the spot before he sprints off? It was exactly the same with D. He just needed to shriek out 'yabadabadoo' to complete the image. Oh yeah, and to actually stay on his feet, rather than doing a prat fall into a huge squidgy pile of mud.
And while D suddenly has found all this amazing energy, I seem to have lost all mine totally. Even dragging myself down up the stairs is too much of an effort. Seriously. I didn't actually bother wearing socks yesterday morning, because I couldn't be arsed to go up to the bedroom. So instead, I got really uncomfortable damp feet in my boots when we went out for our morning trudge, and got really painful blisters. See also, not bothering to clean the sink, even though it was actually swimming in grubby little bits of days old mashed potato and horrid little snaggy bits of canned tomato. And also, not bothering to sew up the sleeve on my cardigan, which now gapes open from my wrist right up to my elbow. Yes, I am still wearing it as well. I'm wearing it right now, for the third day in a row. Do you know why? Because I can't be bothered to wear anything else. Oh dear oh dear. It probably smells as well.
Right, I'd better drag myself off the sofa and play with poor old D, who is being most understanding throughout this severe period of maternal inactivity. He might just implode with frustration if I keep it up much longer though...
