When I had Bjorn, I knew there were many scraped knees and bruises in my future. He wasn't yet three weeks old when he first "climbed a tree", scratching his new little baby leg in the process. I was prepared for the band-aids and the boo-boos, the seemingly permanent bruises up and down his little toddler legs.
After all, the kid spends practically all day playing soccer and baseball and hockey. He is made of dirt and snails and puppy dog tails.
I figured with Peanut, though, I would have it easy until at least, oh, junior high. When suddenly the hormones start raging and I become the enemy.
She was supposed to be made of sugar and spice and everything nice.
So why is she the one I had to take to the dentist for a chipped tooth? A chipped tooth she gave herself from throwing a tantrum?!
Yes, that's right. Throwing a balls-out, no-holds-barred tantrum. All because I made her hold my hand when we walked across the street. How dare I?!
After screaming the whole way "Myself! NO! NO! MYSELF!" because (why else?!) she wanted to do it all by herself, I placed her on the sidewalk and crouched down next to her to calm her. My sweet, little Sugar & Spice daughter till screaming, she threw herself backwards, and I caught her easily. But she immediately switched tactics and threw herself forward.
Face first. Into the sidewalk. Look, Ma, no hands!
It could've been worse. Much, much worse. As it is, she has a chipped front tooth that has not given her any problems. Literally an hour later she was biting into a full apple, no pain.
For the next few years, we have to be on the lookout for discoloration or pain with that tooth.
For the next few years, I also have to be on the lookout for tantrums, sidewalks and anything else that may interfere with my strong-willed daughters sense of right. Sigh.