I’ve always had the parenting philosophy that if you let a child touch a hot oven, they’d learn not to play in the kitchen while you cook. I wrongly assumed that my three year old would learn not to jump on his bed after falling, hitting his head on the headboard, and going to the ER for six stitches. Instead the 40lbs of pure boy craziness decided to stand on the hospital bed and come home to jump on the bed even after we sang “Five Little Monkeys” a dozen time.
I get the feeling that that was not our last ER visit. I await the day when he needs his first x-rays. Oh, the joy of having boys.
