Everyone says that your kid will get bumps and bruises while growing up - it's just a part of life. Before Harrison was born, Michael said that our little boy will inevitably come home with a broken arm one day because that's just how it is - and I should accept it. Well, I say NAY! Why do I have to accept the fact that my child that I protected for 10 months in the womb and many more outside will one day be injured? I didn't drink caffeine, stood up wind from smokers, avoided wine during Michael's 30
th birthday eleven course dinner and wine pairing, swore off lunch meat and sushi and drank gallons upon gallons of water against my own will... all in an attempt to ensure my kid was healthy. So No, I don't like the idea of anything hurtful happening to Harrison.
Perhaps it really is all a part of life. If so, I think life has a very tricky way of making me comfortable with this notion by slowly integrating wounds into everyday life. Babies are born with long, jagged fingernails and for whatever reason, the nurses don't cut them at the hospital. It took mere minutes for an
un-
mittened hand to quickly claw red marks into his perfect little face. Then there was the first time I trimmed Harrison's fingernails and I clipped the top of his finger! It didn't bleed per
se, but you could see the redness of blood just under the remaining skin. Needless to say I was devastated; Harrison didn't even cry or let on he felt anything during that episode.
Aside from the perpetual claw marks on his face, he has escaped life relatively unscathed thus far aside from some big bumps. As he was learning to sit up (and stay up) he fell backwards and bumped his head several times. We came to recognize the BONK of his head on the floor that reverberated throughout our little house, followed by the short cry of shock and then the banshee howl of the injured. He always proved to be fine with a little TLC from mom or dad. I once put him in his
jumperoo bouncer when his foot got stuck and he suddenly started wailing. When I tried to pick him up, he was stuck in the cloth seat, tangled in his feet. I could not get him out but I could not put him down because it would put more painful pressure on the stuck extremity (dad came to the rescue). I felt awful because I, his loving, caring, over protective mother had hurt him.
Lately he has progressed to more concerning situations. He pulled himself up on a swing at school and fell forward and hit his head on the bar - twice! He had a big knot on his eyebrow but went away a day later. A couple nights ago he lost his balance sitting in the bath tub and slipped onto his back underwater. Michael and I were right there and dad fished him out. He was only under 2 seconds and I think he held his breath (I hear it is reflexive in infants) as he didn't really cough up any water. No harm done other than the fright it caused him. But the half second it took Michael to get a grip on his slippery little body was a bit of torture for me, looking on.
I guess with the natural progression of his life and age, he will gradually move from little bumps and bruises to bigger scrapes, cuts and burns. Evidently this is how I will come to terms with it, slowly and imperceptibly throughout days, months, years.
With that logic, you would think that I, as an adult, would be impervious to pain inflicted upon myself. That said, let me tell you about Monday night. Harrison has been waking up a lot at night (that's a whole other post) and at 4am I had to feed him for the 3rd time that night to get him to fall back asleep (yeah, we are working on that). With crying baby in arm, I turned off the light in the kitchen and moved into the living room when I suddenly find myself face down on the floor with pain in my legs. It took an additional moment to register that I had walked into, toppled over and fallen on top of the new, metal baby gate. I fell onto Harrison although I instinctively braced my body away from him so as not to crush him; he did knock the back of his head on the gate but he only cried for a few seconds when dad came to the rescue and calmed him down so I know he wasn't really hurt. Mom on the other hand... I have 8-10 large black and blue bruises all over my knees and shins.
The day after I drafted this post, Michael was changing Harrison on the changing table on top of the dresser. The area is partitioned off with matching wood to keep the changing pad in place. Harrison was sitting on top when he leaned forward, lost balance and hit his cheek bone, just under the eye, on the partition. We were sure he would end up with a black eye but he instead has a bit of a discolored raspberry as you can see below. I made sure he was
ok, kissed him and then bid them goodbye on my way to work. I guess I am getting used to the idea of boo-boos after all.