A letter to my daughter:

Over the last week, you have injured yourself several times. My love, you must be careful with yourself. I worked hard to make that perfect little head.

First, I let you play with a pot and wooden spoon. You had great fun, until the pot flipped over (so it was bottom down) and you tried to stand up braced against one side. Pushing down on one side of the rim made the other rim whip up and get you right between the eyes.

Later that night, you were playing on the porch while your dad and I ate, and you grabbed the bike rack that was leaned up against the wall and brought it down on your finger.

Yesterday, you were sleeping so soundly on the couch. I went into the kitchen to grab a glass of water and heard a *THUMP* and then you crying. You'd rolled right off the couch and onto the floor.

Then, you were playing with a spoon and smacked yourself in the forehead so hard that it left a bruise.

Today, you tried to pull yourself up against a toy and knocked yourself into the corner of a wall. Your first goose egg.

In just a few days, you cut the bridge of your nose, cut your finger, bonked your head, bruised your forehead, and gave yourself a goose egg. Either I'm a terrible mother or you're getting to the age where you're going to start hurting yourself all the time.