He Must Be His Father's Child

The doorbell had scarcely stopped ringing, by the time I was in animated conversation with a family member that had stopped by to say hello.

" . . .all that to say, I'm really happy!" the words graced my lips, as my ears detected a cry from L'il Man in the next room. I could tell it was one of those "I bonked my head, Mom, kiss it." kind of cries. I turned to go do just that.

Rounding the kitchen cabinets, there he stood, his petite frame in a grimace of tears and inconsolable speech. I began to reach for him ~ only to have him loose his balance (or, was he passing out?) and fall straight backwards, banging his head on the tile floor.

"Oh, no! Keller!" I exclaimed, as I gingerly picked up his little body. Cradling him close, I began to soothe him . . . only to be startled that he could not seem to catch his breath in vigorous cry.

"Keller! Breathe!" I encouraged him, but the depth of the crying was beyond his ability to reach for a new breath. As his body relaxed in a fainted pose, I almost panicked.

Save for his father's multiple stories of low pain thresh hold incidences sending him to a blackened state, I might have been frightened beyond belief.

No sooner had I recounted in my mind the GilGuy's brush with the hammer against his kneecap on the rooftop, and the fainting thereof, than Keller was robustly protesting having momentarily lost awareness of his surroundings.

Now, his complaint reached louder and louder, as there were not one, but two head-bonks to be kissed!

I dutifully and gratefully complied, making note for future reference that this young man best be laid prostrate at the first sign of any future toddler head-bonkage.

:)