Stick a Fork in Me, I'm Done!

Living with a newly 3-year-old son has taught me a few things:

When I change D's diaper, I know to watch out for the penis which could pee on me at any moment;

When I drag him away from his toys to bring him upstairs for bed, I know to watch out for the swinging fists of protest;

When he is angry and leans in with his mouth on my shoulder, I move before teeth clamp down;

When he is zooming on his scooter, I jump back before he (accidentally) runs over any of my toes, or slams into my shins.

But, I didn't expect this:

D was sitting on my lap, sharing a piece of the delicious banana cake my sister had made. He held in his hand a small plastic fork.

As I turned my head to look at him, his fork rose up swiftly, probably with a plan to then rocket down into another piece of cake.

Instead, the sharp tines jabbed right into my opened eye, scrambling my contact lens and causing me to screech like the Cyclops when stabbed by Odysseus.

My sister, who expected to see me with three little holes in my cornea, couldn't look at me at first. I took the contact out and started to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

A plastic fork. In the eye.

Well, I really didn't see that one coming.

(update: other than some major weeping from the eye, all is well now; somehow, even the contact lens appears fine).

--------------------------------------
And, a major thank you to Oh, The Joys and From the Frontlines (two lovely bloggers) for bestowing this award on me:

Thank you, thank you, thank you. I'll try to be nice, even when being stabbed by forks.