be still my beating heart

One-year-olds, especially adventurous ones who run everywhere rather than walk, are so damn accident prone and there's so many near-misses that sometimes you wonder how they're ever going to make it to adulthood.
Case in point: this morning, we walked around to our playgroup which is held in the local community hall. I guess I could get organised enough to accept one of the lifts people are always offering but I don't really mind the exercise, even if it is an 8km return trip and there's some pretty steep hills along the way. It's worth the effort though because there's about twenty other kids who go and hundreds of toys to play with and Harley really loves it.
Anyway, at some point he decided to do some exploring over by some potplants in a corner of the hall, and that's when he came across an unopened bottle of red wine that someone attending a function the night before had, no doubt drunkenly, stashed there.
He was probably wondering what sound a bottle of wine makes when it's hurled onto a wooden floor because suddenly there was an almighty crash and I looked up from where I was sipping coffee with the other mothers to see my child standing barefoot in about two square metres of broken glass and red wine. Luckily he was preoccupied with examining the pretty glass shards so I managed to leap over (in a single bound, I'm pretty sure it was) and hoik him up. But for a second there I had visions of severed arteries and his life ebbing out of him before the paramedics arrived.
Argh.......
Naturally after that I had to come home and open a bottle--the traditional way--to calm my nerves.
And I get the feeling this is going to get harder before it gets easier.