Poor Mali

This morning she woke herself up by rolling out and falling off of our bed. A two foot drop onto nice soft carpet, but still not how she imagined waking up. Usually we hear babbling beforehand, usually the pillow fortress around her is a barrier. Much sobbing.

On Sunday one of the other kids in the church nursery bit her on the forehead. Hard. No skin breaking (so she won't be a werewolf, I assured Iz), but still also not how she envisioned happy church nursery time.

Yesterday Leelo kneed her in the forehead as he ran by. An accident, but more crying nonetheless.

All this, coupled with her tendency to bonk her own noggin while trying to stand or crawl means that she is officially, as Seymour likes to say, in the stage where it looks as though we beat our children.

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