This is the first of many

Tonight the dog ate a roll of tape. Or maybe she didn’t. I mean, she chewed it up, but we have no way of knowing what parts of it are insider her and which aren’t.  Including the metal death saw that actually cuts the tape. Yeah, we didn’t find that bit. So it might be in the dog. We wait, check the dog’s poop for blood, and hope she didn’t actually eat it. How on earth am I supposed to keep a baby alive?  I mean, granted, newborns don’t tend to chew up rolls of tape, right? They don’t have teeth, for goodness sake. But eventually he’ll be mobile. Eventually he’ll have teeth. Eventually he’ll put everything in his mouth, and put his fingers in and on anything he can’t put in his mouth. Cat poop. Rolls of tape. Electrical outlets.  I’m going to kill the baby.  Statistically speaking, we should be ok. Most babies aren’t destroyed by this or that knick knack of modernity. One deep breath and I can remind myself that, yes, we’ll be fine. We don’t have to put the baby in a kevlar bubble until he’s 25. He’ll be fine.  But there’s that moment. It’s like an ice pick right in whatever part of your brain gives you confidence. Oh god, we don’t have any ice picks do...