John is 11 months old and FAST. He can tear a room apart in less than five minutes. I promise this is the truth, because I have seen him do it.
John is the apple of his Gramps' eye.
Stevie W got up to go to the bathroom. Or the kitchen. I can't remember which now. Because when he stood up, he took three steps and just as he got past the couch, he SCREAMED and doubled over, staggering. I was debating whether this was a heart attack or a stroke and about to jump off the couch to possibly resuscitate him, when Steve suddenly straightened back up with a pained expression on his face.
That was when I knew. Because I had experienced that same agonizing pain.
Steve looked at me. Grinned. Bent over and picked up a toy soldier out of the floor. There are about 300 or so of those soldiers using our house as a barracks, with the occasional policeman thrown in the mix. Sometimes one of them escapes the barracks and bivouacs in odd spots. Stepping on them takes your breath and sanity for a moment. Sometimes you curse. OK, you curse every time.
But John was forgiven of course. He is only 11 months old. I never thought I would see the day Steve was felled by a two inch soldier wielded by a two foot baby.
But I have now. And I didn't have my camera. :)