
When they begin walking, you let them cry a little and try again.
At least until they begin school, you can kiss a boo-boo and the pain will go away.
Then large boxes of Johnson and Johnson band-aids begin to be stored, and certain bowls, towels, ice packs and Ace bandages, and suddenly the teenager athletic is taking care of their own injuries.
Except I now have animals instead.
Who can't communicate what hurts, where it hurts and/or how much it hurts.
But can still whimper, moan and cry because of the pain.
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