I wouldn’t trust Owen alone in a padded room for fear of him breaking a bone.

He manages to bloody his lip at least once a month and is a worthy candidate for a crash helmet. He crawled after Simone and got stuck in the cat door, got his foot stuck in an air vent, an ass cheek wedged between the crib slats, his hand caught between the couch cushions, smacked his forehead by pulling out a cord from his pants, slammed his fingers shut in a drawer that has a safety latch, his butt stuck on the tub stopper, a crayon jammed on a tooth, a flax seed stuck in his ear, and managed to almost knock himself out with a laundry basket. He’s only been in existence for 13 months and he’s more accident prone than Chevy Chase or Mr. Bean combined. He has most of his teeth, he walks and talks, he sneaks up and bites you, and plays peekaboo for hours as long as you act startled every time he pops up from his hiding place. Mama being panicked is hilarious.

He’s adorable.

Did I mention my ulcer is back?

P.S. Nora is 4 going on fourteen. She noticed my frustration the other day and asked, “Mama, your cheeks are red…are you ok? Are you frustrated?” I said, “Yes.” She said, “Oooooh….ok…can we watch Little Princess?”