Baby Beater

Seriously, I do not beat my baby.

I know, she's got several bruises on her face, so blame the sleep-deprived mom, right?

The truth is, my kid is trying to kill herself. That's the way babies are. They sit around (in their own poo, no less) and think, "Dying young ... that has a ring to it." If they can't end their lives completely, they hope to at least injure themselves, preferably with internal bleeding.

Yesterday, I gave Rain a metal mixing bowl and spoon to play with, as I have many times before. She likes to beat the bowl like a drum. Pretty innocuous, no? This time, she tried to press down on one side of the bowl (in an effort to use it to stand, I think). The other side of the bowl flew up and rammed her in the face.

Rain cried.

Later, Tim let Rain crawl around in the kitchen. Her hand slipped. Whack! Her face slapped the floor. Tim rushed to her, hoping she would do that crazy thing kids do sometimes when they are smacked real good and get back up like nothin'.

Rain cried.

Then I put her in pajamas (you know, the ones with the feet attached). I didn't put one foot in all the way, I guess, because there was extra cloth flapping from it. She tried to stand in her crib. She slipped on the cloth, and--no surprise--fell face-first into the slats. Another no surprise:

Rain cried.

Afterwards, she decided to up the ante. She scooted past my laptop, all casual-like. She yanked the power cord out, popped the end into her mouth, and started sucking on it. Yes, the cord was plugged into the wall.

It made Mommy want to cry.