You know those baby books, where you record your kid’s first words, first haircut, first sibling rivalry? I think instead of those, we should keep mother books: first time you stay up all night with a sick toddler, first time you get thrown up on (and I’m not talking baby spit-up), first time you sleep through the night after giving birth.

Instead of that, we have blogs. So I’m recording this right now: this week we had our first head injury. And by “we” obviously I mean “Owen.” But I survived, too.

Here’s what happened: Audrey came up and hugged Owen from behind, and they both fell over backwards. Owen’s head hit the seat of a kitchen chair on the way down.

It was just an external head injury, nothing serious, but even a not-serious head injury is somewhat terrifying. There’s the blood, for one thing; heads bleed a lot. Then there’s the wondering where the first aid kit is, followed by the realization that you don’t have a first aid kit, followed by the idea that you might want to get a first aid kit.

After all that (if you happen to be me), and after grabbing a dozen washcloths and an ice pack to hold to the wound, you get to call Dane, tell him to come home from work, then send him to buy gauze and bandages and children’s ty1enol and children’s m0trin, because apparently we don’t keep these things around the house. (As an aside, did you know that a little bottle of children’s painkillers has something like eight pills in it? Very useful, those little bottles. As long as you only have a little bit of pain.)

And then, seventy-two hours later (that would be now), the wound looks almost like a little scrape. Not even a scab, just pink skin with a little blood crusted along one edge.

The first day, when it was still trickling blood, my mother came by to check on us. (She’s the kind that not only has a first-aid kit, but is first-aid certified.) “Heads heal quickly,” she said.

“Not quickly enough,” Dane said.

I’m thinking they were both right.