Mireya has proved that she is perfectly capable of injuring herself in remarkable ways. Some weeks ago she stabbed herself in the eye with a cardboard flap from a box, scratching her cornea. She did manage to make it through the holidays (and countless present unwrapping) safely, but I’ll admit I did hold my breath and resisted the urge to pre-open all her gifts.

Then this week she punched herself in the nose. We’re not sure how, we’re not sure when exactly, but we both vaguely remember talking about her hitting her nose. We didn’t think much of it at the time. Then, a few days later, her nose got a tiny bit swollen on one side and was sore to the touch, just like she’d been punched in the nose.

I know what you’re thinking. But I’ve looked into it and it is illegal in Comal County to wrap your kid in bubble wrap. Go figure.

I’m not very surprised about this development. I had hoped that her ballet lessons and aerial acrobatics meant she’d not inherited my klutz gene. After all, I have a long tradition of unintended self-injury. There was the time where, as a child, I caught a softball with my nose. I’ve also been in the midst of throwing a tennis ball for our dogs with one of those super throwers (the ones that let you really get some oomph on the ball) when it went horribly wrong. Somehow, despite throwing it over a long spindly Live Oak branch about 20 times, I miscalculated, threw it straight at the branch, after which it bounced off and whacked me in the forehead.

Then there was the time dad told the kids not to walk around the fire pit barefoot (which he himself was doing) then he proceeded to step right on a burning ember.

Poor kid. With genes like ours, she doesn’t stand a chance. But wait. It gets worse.

We were out to lunch at the Wildflour, our big splurge on the weekend, when we were goofing around at the table. Note: this is why I’m a good tipper. You have to put up with a lot when you are our wait person. Anyway, I decided to be funny and point out something on Mireya’s shirt and when she bent her head down to look, I bonked her on her nose.

On her sore nose.

So yeah, we’re a family of klutzes around here. But at least most of the time it’s nothing an ice pack won’t cure.

Winter Prosapio is a writer, a wife, and a working mom of two girls, two cats, and one ridiculously enthusiastic terrier mix.

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