Little Asher, in the past forty eight hours, has
- dropped a grill rack on his toe and split it open. It probably needed a stitch, but the trauma of taking him in and stitching it up was just not worth it. Who cares if you have a scar on your toe, anyway?
- touched the cobbler pot as it was coming out of the oven, burning his finger. As if that wasn't bad enough, it happened in front of someone he doesn't know very well, and the whole thing embarrassed him.
- shocked the same finger an hour later playing with a plug behind the couch.

Not to be outdone, in the same moment Asher was discovering electricity, Silas's little leg was so stuck in the bars of his crib that it took Brian and I both several minutes to get it out. Picture Silas, S-C-R-E-A-M-I-N-G in his sleep while Brian and I are trying to finagle a chunky baby knee out of the crib. He even earned his first bruise out of the deal.

Last night, after split toes had been disinfected, burned and shocked fingers nursed, and babies unstuck and soothed back to sleep, Brian asked, "How are we supposed to keep these kids alive for the next 18 years?"

I have no clue.