There are many hallowed subcategories which a person joins over the course of their life. Those who have loved, those who have lost, those who have been very sick, or ridden a motorcycle or gone swimming, or held their breath for two minutes or lifted a big stone at a cross roads that only a few people ca lift. 

Many of these groups are not enormously rare and are joined just as a matter of course. Roby has gone swimming, she has gotten sick, she has sung a song, and today, she burned her hand.

Joining the ranks of countless billions she touched something hot and hurt her hand and the sound she made was merciless and demanding and awful. Her little red fingertips, not blistered, thank God, dungeoned her as she caressed things and explored, bringing back tears after tears.

We gave her an ice bag, and a wet rag, and some baby tylenol, and toys, and songs, and beach walks, and kisses, and hugs, and tears of our own and hopefully some of it worked. I’m writing this upstairs as Abby tries to get to sleep with her downstairs. So I don’t know if it’s working, but I hope it is.

I’d take the burns across her fingers across my own face or more private places if it meant sparing her that discomfort. But I can’t do that, and sparing discomfort isn’t a thing parents ought to do. But maybe ten month olds don’t learn anything from getting burned.