Ah, the adventures of locomotion. Yesterday morning, Mark very generously gave me some extra shut-eye. I was deep in a dream when I heard Andrew cry, so I incorporated said wail into my dream and carried on. Next thing I know, Mark is holding out a screaming, bleeding baby, telling me to investigate the bleeding while he cleaned up the carpet.
"Huh?" doesn't even begin to describe my confusion.
Drew was crawling and took a very light header into the carpet, but he managed to hit his lip just so and start gushing blood. And, of course, he was wearing a white onesie and had drooled blood all over it, so the little tyke looked like he had gotten into a serious battle something sharp and pointy. Confirming that it was just a lip wound was a challenge, though, as Drew is very vehement in preventing anybody from touching his face. He twists, he squirms, he strains his head from side to side, he kicks, he pushes away with his grubby hands. I think he was more upset about all the fingers in his face than he was about the actual boo-boo.
But the bleeding did stop and Drew went on his merry way, crawling about the apartment while gripping one of his two prize possessions: any slip of paper or the small stereo remote. Sometimes he will make off with both. I really wish I knew why he has such a fascination with paper products. I suppose I should be grateful that at least now he doesn't immediately put all paper products into his mouth.