As a mama who errs on the side of not enough worrying – at least over physical stuff; i’m more of the ‘what if we all have to eat dogfood and sleep in a cardboard box’ variety’ – this reminds me of a time i was in the driveway talking to two passersby, a nice young couple looking for a house in our neighborhood. My son was about two and kept hurtling himself into the street, no matter how many times I asked/told him to stop. I’d just retrieve him again…and again…without so much as looking at him. I could tell this couple, childless as they were, were slightly taken aback by how unflappable I was, and this made me sort of cocky. But then the man looked at my son and said, “Ah, he’s bleeding.” Sure enough. On his last launch into the street, he’d fallen on his hands and broken the skin open but wasn’t even crying, was just starting to relaunch himself.