About six months ago when my daughter had just turned one we were having a snuggle - mother daughter time - and for some reason she threw her head back and broke my nose. Ow. It hurt. In fact it still hurts now when I poke it. It swelled up, and bled, and then gradually went back to its usual size and the little sympathy I had went away.
It wasn't actually a big deal, and anyone less obsessed with my nose than I am (so, no-one) wouldn't be able to tell. Until I demonstrate its extreme bendiness, which, don't worry, I don't do very often.
So anyway, you think I'd be careful wouldn't you? I now know the power of my baby's head. Well, generally I am. On the occasions when she comes to snuggle (word of the day, sorry) I have one arm in front of my bump - I have years ahead of my two daughters kicking the crap out of each other - no need for it to start with one in utero - and one arm protecting my face.
But when I fall asleep I guess my defences are weakened slightly. And so it was at about half past one this morning I was woken up very suddenly and in a lot of pain. I managed not to cry out, so as not to wake my daughter and husband (we don't actually co-sleep with her, but sometimes it just ends up that way). My husband was woken anyway by the cracking noise made. The sound of my daughter's skull as it banged against my cheekbone.
She didn't wake up. Just shifted herself into a more comfortable position - and therefore less comfortable for me. After about half an hour of pretty much silent weeping I realised I was in far too much pain and had to do something. So went and gave myself a good healthy dose of paracetamol, searched for something cold to put on it and settled for some arnica gel. It's pretty cool stuff - kind of heats up the spot and cools it down at one. Unfortunately got some in my eye so swore, loudly. It's not meant for eyes. And I tried not to look in the mirror at all. My husband's reaction when he had a look was enough.
So this morning I have a black eye. Quite a spectacular one actually. Not my best offering - I once got horrifically beaten up in Paris and was completely unrecognisable for a good week. But enough to make myself wince when I see myself in the mirror, and wonder if I dare actually go out in public. Enough so that my daughter wants to poke it, blissfully unaware that she is the cause of the bobo.
Toddlers are clumsy by nature. Even in their sleep, I have learned.