When I was a child, I used to sleepwalk. My mother put a gate at the top of the steps in hopes of preventing me from falling down them. It didn't work. Evidently I removed the gate, placed it against the wall, and headed downstairs--literally. I must have slipped, and went tumbling down, right into an octagon-shaped end-table at the base of the steps. The sharp point met my head, and I bled like a stuck pig.

We all fall, no matter what precautions have been taken.

Oh, when I was about six and my sister about three, I was pushing her on our swing set, which hadn't been anchored down. It tipped over and a piece of relatively sharp metal cut my sister in the head.

Nice, light but engaging book finished (one of the old school Regency romances that appear to be going the way of the dodo). Time to tackle the living room. And we should probably figure out how to better childproof the rest of the house in the next month or so, because eventually she'll get the height and arm strength she needs to clear the gates.

It's just horrible to see her fall so hard, even if she instantly gets up and starts screaming, and climbs back onto the couch the instant she stops crying. And it's stressful to have her climbing all over the place, grabbing all kinds of things that until today were safely out of reach--she mastered the couch, the love seat, and the rocking chair all today, so that's a lot of previously unclaimed territory.

Hi, Dylan, and welcome.

Jess, I'm sorry I didn't get to wish you and E a happy anniversary on the actual day. I did enjoy seeing the photos of you, though. What a handsome pair of people.

Maria, cute shoooz!

Then she fell and smacked her head tonight. Big ol' bruise on her head. And yet, back on the horse.

In my immediate family, I am the only person that hasn't had to take my nephew to the ER. His mom, his bio contributor, the guy my sister dated for a couple of years, his new step-dad, my step-mom, my dad, my brother, my sister-in-law, my grandma and bio contrib's parents have *all* ended up taking him to the ER for various self-inflicted injuries to the scrappy kid who does something, anything that has defied all child proofing. He just turned nine and the only chance I have of maintaining my record now is prayer. Kids are resiliant and they explore. It's what they do.

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ION, flexeril kicks serious ass. Duuuuuuuude... Saw my doctor and I have a pinched nerve somewhere. He sampled me up and it rocks.

Didn't make me coma girl either which bodes well for tomorrow.

I got the trash taken out, some dishes done, made an appt for some hopefully fluffy bunny kineosiology tomorrow, sorted my laundry and passed out for a several hour nap.

I did have really weird, even for me, dreams. Is this a side-effect or just my brain finally being able to reboot after several days of pain? There was a cool house, a neighborhood on fire, emotional catharsis, a brilliant new flat after the one house got burnt up, a deluge and snogging with a Buffista I am not likely to ever be making out with. To sum up, weird. Deep, solid, refreshing sleep with a side of strange dreams...

I just took the second one, because it is both time and my spidey-sense back is tingling but not nearly so bad as before, and am planning on going back to sleep.

I am irked, for one of the romances I grabbed from the library today was one I've already read. Heck, I think it's one that I'd not only read, I'd passed along to Susan in a big bag of the things.

Sigh. Guess I can be thankful that it wasn't that memorable.

I'm reasonably certain, however, that I've not read either Jo Beverly I picked up.

Chiming in with another tale of had own childproofed room, that didn't stop me from splitting my lip open on the dining room table. There's always something on which you can damage yourself.

There's always something on which you can damage yourself.

Yes! Especially when you have siblings.

Yes! Especially when you have siblings.

They'll do the damage for you! Save you the trouble!

My sister put my head through drywall. I'm just thankful I hit between the studs.

My brother hit me in the face with a piece of tetherball pole that he was using as a baseball bat. I survived.

My dad made me eat, through a straw, (ita-fonted for the squeamish) runny scrambled eggs that he blended with milk and antibiotics. I barely survived.

One is good fodder for the guilt and the other for a short story that I;ve had published a few places.

It all worked out.

FTR, it was all "accidental". The breaking of my jaw at least. Those eggs had oremeditation and extreme prejudice written all over them