Matthew Dumpty

Matthew took a tumble down the stairs this evening. Luckily, he was only half way up, so he only fell half way down. (Is that the optimist or pessimist view point?) Anyway, I watched in horror as he came tumbling down the stairs. “Tumbling” is the most accurate word. First he was on his stomach, head downward; next thing I know, he’s on his back and rolling sideways down the steps, then he actually sat up on a step before projecting himself onto his hands and knees on the floor. It all happened in a split second.

I rushed over to make sure he didn’t have any bones protruding or blood gushing from anything, and in my haste, I snatched the toy he had clutched in his hands away so I could examine him. Big mistake. Before I took the toy, he had only been whimpering. After I took the toy: huge, screaming fit. Massive. He turned scarlet red and fluid was oozing from his eyes, nose, mouth. Chris and I were trying to survey the damage, but all he wanted was that toy.

There was no damage. His continued screaming fit, however, was difficult to contain. We did not want to reward his fit by returning the toy. But we also understood that he had just fallen down the stairs and probably was scared by the whole ordeal, even though he wasn’t hurt. So he finally calmed down, we talked for a moment about stair safety and then returned the toy with a warning that acting like a two-year-old was not going to get him very far in this house, even if he is only two-years-old.

This is what I imagine Matthew heard: “Matthew, blah blah blah, downstairs, blah blah, blah blah blah. Blah here’s your toy, blah blah, blah.”

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