As an appropropriate addendum to B's post of Sunday: falling hurts. NOT (o, do not worry) that Elliot has gone and done something ridiciulous like falling off a porch.* But he did, the other day, fall from the great height of about eight inches which I would guess is about the distance from his nose to the ground when he is lurching around in his not-quite-yet-crawling way. All babies in this phase face-plant pretty often, and I think as a parent you just sort of have to make your peace with the sound of your baby's face hitting the floor, because it just happens all the time and if you don't let them try than they're never going to learn to crawl. My project lately has been to learn to try and stiffle my own gasp of horror every time Elliot falls--usually, if you don't respond, they don't either.
But anyway, really: Elliot was lurping around and he fell on his little face, and despite the short distance of the fall he managed to work up enough momentum that he actually gave himself a bloody nose. A bloody nose! On my baby.
Brandon and I spent the rest of the morning pretty much in recovery--patting each other on the back and sighing deeply. Elliot, I'm happy to say, didn't seem to really notice.
*My mama points out that I was a real pro at this whole falling business, and at least twice in my infancy didn't so much "fall" as "leap joyfully into the air" from the top step of a flight of stairs. To which I say: Oh, Mama. I am so sorry.