Scream, Kick, Fall, Smack, Bleed...Good Morning

This morning, I was awoken by a swift kick to the balls. Oscar was lying perpendicular to Margret and I, with his head gently resting on her stomach and his feet dangerously resting on mine. His sweet, innocent 1-year old dreams must have taken a turn for worse because he screamed and then dropped his chunky little size 5s like a hammer.

As I was curled up on the floor (I fell out of bed after the kick), I wondered if the split second I awoke from the scream actually made the kick better or worse. Just one of those thoughts you have while spitting up blood on your beige carpet. Did I mention that my face landed on metal toy truck lying on the floor?

Throughout my life, I have taken a few shots to the groin during various sporting related activities. I've even walked into a table here and there. However, in all of those cases, I always saw it coming, and at least made a feeble attempt to slightly block a direct blow. Nothing, not even a hard ground ball, even begins to compare to a direct, on-target blow from a toddlers heel.

So to recap: sleep, scream, kick, fall, smash, bleed, "Good Morning Daddy". Another fond memory of fatherhood that I will never forget.