The First Major Owie (or minor Boo Boo)

My little boy,

Today has been a bit of a difficult day.  For both of us.

The story goes like this...

Papa Bruce came over to help Daddy on a woodworking project.  And I thought, hey, there are two responsible adults here, I can go grocery shopping and leave you in their care and get it done in half the time.  (Side note: while I absolutely love you and adore being with you, having you around makes doing mundane chores a bit more challenging.) So I toddled off to the grocery store and left you in the capable hands of Daddy and Papa Bruce.

I return about an hour later, and you, Papa Bruce, and Daddy are in the garage.  I get out of the car and Papa Bruce says something to the effect, "Uh-ho, now we're in trouble."  Through circumstances I don't wish to recount here, you accidentally tumbled out of your car seat and onto the garage floor.  Your nose took the brunt of the fall.

Papa Bruce assured me that you were fine. In fact, you weren't crying at all. You seemed to have completely forgotten that the incident had even happened.  Though you were a bit clingy the rest of the day, and rightly so.

I held you close and give you a good once over and sure enough - you were fine.  Daddy was still a bit shaken by the incident though.

I realize that this is going to be the first of many accidents and injuries you shall endure as a little boy. I can only imagine what will be in store for us - sprained ankles, scraped knees, or - dare I even think it! - broken bones.  And I'm going to warn you now, it's going to be hard for me. Eventually, I'm going to have to let you go bike riding and skateboarding and my tummy quivers at the thought of that right now. But I have to let you do those things. You're a boy and I need to let you be a boy. I can't protect you from everything in this world and I shouldn't try to stifle you from doing things that you might get hurt at (within reason). You'll want to climb trees, and pop wheelies, and all those little boy things.

Thus, I have a feeling that your "owies" and "boo-boos" are gonna hurt me a whole lot more than you...

Love,
Mom

Obviously none the worse for wear