Today I decided to pretend that I'm seven again...

so I fell over, twisted my ankle and grazed my knee. I wasn't really pretending to be seven - I'm just a clumsy cow.

I now have a very sore ankle and a gross looking knee. Weirdly I'm quite looking forward to having a scab. I haven't had a scab in a looooong time. This is probably a good thing - I don't think you're supposed to have scabs at 31.

Perhaps it's a mum thing - to remind me just how painful it is to graze your knee for the inevitability of all sorts of minor injuries once the boy decides to finally get up and run.

I've never had nice knees and as they've spent the past six months or so crawling around on hard floors they don't look much worse with a scab as an accessory. In fact it tones in quite well with the bruises on my shins and by friday the leg hair that I haven't had a chance to deal with will have thatched over it nicely anyway.