What does it mean to live boldly?
I don’t know, but it sounds like something you probably can’t do with small children. In this house, we live very cautiously. Threats abound, hazards on all sides. I spend most of my time these days worrying about what the baby might have swallowed when I wasn’t looking.
My big fear is button batteries. When Edith was a newborn, I read a horrifying article (I won’t link, it’s devastating) about a woman who had lost her daughter to a button battery, and basically, if your kid eats a button battery (and they look SO edible), your kid is dead, because even after the battery is removed, the acid continues to burn them internally and there is nothing anyone can do about it.
I have thrown out everything in the house that I could find that had a button battery, but I still worry that I missed one, or one might come into the house somehow without my knowing about it.
And that’s just one hazard. I also have to take her on the interstate sometimes, among other things.
So overall, living boldly isn’t really relevant to my interests lately; I am pretty fully focused on keeping a baby alive who meanwhile seems compelled to actively seek her own destruction at all times.
Accismus 