My son George

I called Judah George yesterday. I am not really sure what that means besides the fact that I am losing my mind. He was doing something like banging his train set, or throwing it on the ground and then saying "uh oh" and looking at me with his big innocent blue eyes and I said "No, George, don't do that". As soon as I said it I thought "That was weird. I don't even know a George." I guess it is just something he is going to have to get used to. Me calling him George, or totally forgetting his name when a stranger ask. Maybe something is seriously wrong with me. Oh well what do you do?

Maybe I should change my blog name to "oh well, what do you do?" because I feel like that is how all of them end.

Judah also had his first traumatic fall this weekend. I was visiting a friend who had stairs. He had not paid any attention to them, so I didn't even think about it when I left the room for 30 seconds. LITERALLY. 30 seconds. A lot can change in 30 seconds. I walked back in just in time to see him flying down the stairs. I am still not sure who was more scared. He started screaming at the top of his lungs (and let me just say he is not a crier. or at least a pain crier. he is a "I am mad" crier, or "give me what I want" crier or a " I want attention" crier, but not usually when he gets hurt). I am not sure if he was crying from the pain, being scared after flying down who knows how many steps, or from me snatching him up and smothering him with a million hugs and kisses, or me almost crying and bouncing him around the room saying" your ok, your ok, your ok". After calling everyone I know that is a nurse or has ever made contact with a nurse I came to the conclusion that he would probably live. He had a black eye and a big bump on his head, but boys are supposed to have war wounds, right?

Last night he also fell face forward and hit Jenna's brick fireplace right on his big mouth, but he also survived that with some minor bleeding. Jenna and I were definitely the more traumatized ones in that situation.

Then he pulled a dollhouse over on his head. At that point Jenna said "It is amazing that that kid is alive" All in all I am learning that boys are crazy and rough and everywhere. God is giving me lots of practice on how to love them and sooth them without smothering them and making them big babies. I still need some more practice though because every time he gets hurt I want to cry harder than he does and then lock us in our house and never leave and keep all the mean and badness away from him.

but oh well, what do you do?