I was viciously attacked by a rabid 18-month old boy baby today. He was wearing a mint green onesie, had not a hair on his little bald noggin, and was deceptively harmless looking. He was not.
The moral of this story? Don't judge a book by its cover? Nope. Get your tetanus shot before you sit in the waiting room of the ENT? Nope. The moral is: Safety is relatively non-existant.
Take the Virginia Tech massacre, for instance. Living in Richmond, we have had fairly in-depth coverage of the tragedy. It's heartbreaking, it's infuriating, it's mind-blowing. Being a parent makes it even more nightmarishly real. More and more I take notice of situations where people are in a "safe" environment, only to have their "safe" place turn out to be one of the least safe of all. It happened with Taylor Behl here at VCU. Now it has happened at VT. How do we know that our very own safe spot isn't the next most dangerous place on earth?
My kids drive me crazy. I mean, absolutely freakin' insane. Most days, I totter on the edge of reality and mindless oblivion, just counting the seconds until Blaker gets home and provides some back-up. However, despite their....um, shall we say, precociousness, I cannot even imagine what my life would be like without them. And I'm becoming more and more afraid each day that I can't protect them, that our world is unsafe and I have too little control over it to ensure that they will be okay. I'm only armed with Neosporin and Barbie band-aids (and boy, does Sutt get a kick out of wearing his sister's pink Barbie band-aids), not Kevlar vests and magic wands. Although, now that I think about it, my Dad has a few Kevlar vests, so I might could borrow a couple.
Anybody out there got a magic want you want to loan me?