Dear Boy has been walking for almost two months. He's less drunken zombie and a little more wild-west these days and with that he's become more confident. Instead of crouching down and going carefully down the single step into the laundry or from the front stoop onto the porch, he's decided to take the step. Each time he's done this so far, he's fallen down onto his knees, keeled sideways/forwards/backwards and banged his head on the floor/door/wall/step.
Today he's sporting a bruised left forehead, a grazed chin, a grazed right forehead and his very first black eye.
It is very hard to feel like a good parent when his little face is black and blue. And red. And a little yellow.