As a parent, you experience wonderful moments each day. Witnessing your child’s first word or first step or just a look of amazement at something as simple as a stack of blocks brings a unique blend of joy, pride and humor not found anywhere else with the possible exception of some Madeline Kahn movies.

Of course, as a parent you have to be willing to give up certain things as well. No more rowdy late-nighters with your buddies from college or mid-day splatter horror movie fests. You may find you need to give up things you thought rock solid. In my case, I’ve essentially given up my manhood. You see, thanks to a fancy toilet lock in our master bathroom that prevents the lid from opening all the way, I now have to sit down to pee.

As of Saturday night, the running tally for my boys’ injuries goes thusly:

• Boone fell off a step onto a concrete sidewalk. Result: Goose egg on forehead, dinged up eye.
• Wyatt ran full speed into the kitchen table, which sits exactly at their head height. Result: A little raised bump and a pissed off toddler.
• I accidentally bumped Boone’s head on the car door as I tried to put him in the car seat. Result: Crying toddler who just lost all trust in his father.
• Wyatt knocked his forehead on the handle to the refrigerator. Result: High patterned whining until distracted by a jack-in-the-box.
• Wyatt and Boone played an impromptu game of chicken in our hallway just before bedtime. Running at top speed, neither flinched. Or veered out of the way. Each got a bump on the head. A two-fer! Result: The loudest bedtime routine to date.

Grand total of bumps: 6. (And the weekend’s only half over.) Result: On Monday, our nanny will surely call child services.

Boone took a pretty good tumble today. It wasn’t another 5-foot drop, but it was down a step onto a concrete sidewalk. And yes, he went headfirst. He got a nice goose egg and was pretty upset, but my wife was able to calm him and get him smiling again quickly. Wyatt, on the other hand, who didn’t fall and was having a perfectly fine time, went bat-shit.

I understand why. He saw his mom comforting his brother and got jealous. I don’t blame him. His mom is awesome.

His tantrum went on full-tilt for 30 minutes and would have continued had we not caved and offered them both bottles of milk. Here’s the irony, though. When he made his first cry of protest, my wife adjusted Boone over to one side of her lap to make room for Wyatt. But by then, Wyatt was committed to his fit and there was no turning back. That would be admitting defeat.

It’s kind of like when I’m debating with my wife about how I’m always the one to put the dishes away and then she reminds me of numerous instances in which she did the chore, but I’m so deep into the argument I forge ahead as if her evidence was never presented.

Even when my mother-in-law picked up his writhing form and placed him in my wife’s lap, he still continued crying, although with much less vigor. And even when he had the bottle, he would stop drinking every few minutes to let out a pained whine. It was kind of like how, as my dishes argument peters out, I toss in that I’m the one who takes out the trash every night. It doesn’t have any bearing on the topic, but I’m determined to end the conversation the winner somehow.