On our wood-burning stove.
This was probably inevitable. The stove has a door with a big glass window, so you can see the flames... laughing, dancing, beckoning. The baby is still quite young (14 months this week) and not smart about fire. The stove stood cold and empty for six months, while she learned to sit up, roll over, and then crawl; now, when the weather has turned cold and we've started using it again, she's very quick and active.
So, probably inevitable. And it could have been much worse. After the stove has been burning for a few hours, the surface of the glass gets alarmingly hot -- like, surface of a hot stove hot. In this case, the fire was new, so it wasn't that bad. And she only managed to get one hand on it.
That said... It was pretty unpleasant. She screamed and screamed. Her hand sprouted half a dozen large white blisters, including a truly enormous one across her palm. She clawed off the first couple of bandages. Eventually we mummy-wrapped her entire hand into a mitten of gauze and bandages. A day later it's grimy, but still intact. I suppose we'll have to change and dress it again later today.
She's been, all things considered, pretty good about it. Calmed down after a while. A day later, she till whimpers now and then, but is mostly back to her normal self.
She can't put any weight on that hand when she crawls, though. But she's still not interested in walking. So she crawls on three limbs, like a crippled dog, holding her bandaged hand out before her.
Long-time readers of this blog will know that we're no stranger to childhood injuries. Alan was almost exactly this age when he took a header down the front steps of our house in Belgrade.