Today, I kicked a one year-old in the head.
On her birthday.
As I was swallowing down a slice of her chocolate birthday cake.
Which I suppose confirms the literary theory that villains aren’t born, but made.
In truth, I accidentally bumped into little M—- as I was walking, my leg connecting with her head when she made a sudden lurch (as crawling babies will) from beneath a chair. Luckily, she’s doing OK; she looked resentful for a solid hour, but it wasn’t anything some nursery rhymes off an iPad couldn’t fix.
But imagine the story she’ll tell in future years.
(And if in future years you ever read this, M—-: I love you!)