Boo-Boos
When I was pregnant, never having been a mother before, I had expectations of what it would be like when my little one arrived. These expectations were fed mostly by the media. Commercials depicting pretty babies cooing at their mothers, giggling toddlers toddling about, cuteness when baby covers themselves in pureed food - you know, the normal happy scenes we should all expect as parents. What I failed to notice were the fuzzy edges, the dead give-away that these social driven episodes were in no way rooted in reality.
Don't get me wrong. I, now a mother of two, have had plenty of pretty moments. Every time I receive a hug or kiss from one of my girls, pride when Youngest Daughter tells anyone within hearing distance that she is mommy's little duckie, excitement from Oldest Daughter when I teach in her classroom, when either of the girls tell me they love me. All precious moments that continue to make motherhood my best job.
I am resigned to the ugly side of child rearing as well. I have had to learn to deal with temper tantrums (in the privacy of my home or more often in crowded department stores), sassiness, back talking, fighting with their siblings, constant loudness, and the littering of toys across well, everywhere. I know these are normal occurrences in the life of every child, single or with siblings. Kids need to stretch their wings; test their independent boundaries. I get it. Sometimes these things require punishment, sometimes only a lecture. They can grate on the nerves, some days requiring copious amounts of yelling, but I expect these things.
What took me by complete surprise was the stress I feel over boo-boos. By boo-boos I do not mean a scrape of the knees, elbows or chin. I am talking the variety of boo-boo that elicits the response 'holy crap - I think we may need to visit the ER'. I know how to cure diaper rash, apply orajel and bandage a cut, but never was I given pointers on how to settle the ball of tension residing in the pit of my stomach after a horrendous accident.
There is a possibility these are problems that only our family experiences. Oldest Daughter is quite well known for her lack of grace. She has no rhythm, very little sense of balance and no ability at prevention. She can trip over a speck of dust and almost all of the resulting crashes lead to blood. Or tears. Ok, really, almost always both. To be fair, her gracelessness can be attributed to a preemie disorder that causes her to walk on her tip-toes. Unfortunately, we can trace it's roots but are powerless to abolish the damage it causes.
Case in point: Oldest Daughter recently was greeted by Handy Hubby and his 1961 International Scout at the bus stop at the end of her school day. I know, sounds innocent. Well, it should have been. But instead of a fun trip around the neighborhood in a loud and smelly historic vehicle, she is delivered to my front door, crying and bloody. Her excitement at seeing her Daddy caused an epic face plant on the sidewalk. In front of all her school peers. A face plant that massively skinned up her forehead, her knees and her elbows. A face plant that knocked out her front tooth, sending her leftover upper teeth through her bottom lip. A face plant that scratched up her glasses frame and one of her lenses. As we were sopping up the blood and doing an examination for missed damages, she asks us through tears "am I going to have brain damage?"
Youngest Daughter is not clumsy, but she is constantly crashing. We have come to the conclusion that she is a rough little girl in a petite, girly package. When this one falls, I have learned to just pick her up, dust her off and send her back onto the playground, telling the concerned mothers around me "She's fine. She bounces."
Youngest Daughter is also the child that will stick a pea up her nose because it fits. Yep, a trip to Urgent Care was required to have it removed. She is the child that will catapult over the dog, slamming her head on the coffee table, tearing her ear lobe in half. Another trip to Urgent Care (this visit was considerably more expensive due to the jerk that backed into my car, leaving behind $1500 worth of damage and no note). And she is the child that tries to climb the slide from the bottom, managing to fall off of that said slide, damaging half of her body. Apparently she is an expert at bouncing because, miraculously, she did not break a single bone in the fall. I have an ulcer now, but at least we are still cast free.
Each of these incidents (and many, many more) have gnawed at my insides. Even once the accident and the aftermath are concluded, I am still left with the knot in my stomach. Where are the commercials depicting the parents' addiction to Tums? And why wasn't I warned about the pain that my children experience causing me pain as well???? JCMT
Don't get me wrong. I, now a mother of two, have had plenty of pretty moments. Every time I receive a hug or kiss from one of my girls, pride when Youngest Daughter tells anyone within hearing distance that she is mommy's little duckie, excitement from Oldest Daughter when I teach in her classroom, when either of the girls tell me they love me. All precious moments that continue to make motherhood my best job.
I am resigned to the ugly side of child rearing as well. I have had to learn to deal with temper tantrums (in the privacy of my home or more often in crowded department stores), sassiness, back talking, fighting with their siblings, constant loudness, and the littering of toys across well, everywhere. I know these are normal occurrences in the life of every child, single or with siblings. Kids need to stretch their wings; test their independent boundaries. I get it. Sometimes these things require punishment, sometimes only a lecture. They can grate on the nerves, some days requiring copious amounts of yelling, but I expect these things.
What took me by complete surprise was the stress I feel over boo-boos. By boo-boos I do not mean a scrape of the knees, elbows or chin. I am talking the variety of boo-boo that elicits the response 'holy crap - I think we may need to visit the ER'. I know how to cure diaper rash, apply orajel and bandage a cut, but never was I given pointers on how to settle the ball of tension residing in the pit of my stomach after a horrendous accident.
There is a possibility these are problems that only our family experiences. Oldest Daughter is quite well known for her lack of grace. She has no rhythm, very little sense of balance and no ability at prevention. She can trip over a speck of dust and almost all of the resulting crashes lead to blood. Or tears. Ok, really, almost always both. To be fair, her gracelessness can be attributed to a preemie disorder that causes her to walk on her tip-toes. Unfortunately, we can trace it's roots but are powerless to abolish the damage it causes.
Case in point: Oldest Daughter recently was greeted by Handy Hubby and his 1961 International Scout at the bus stop at the end of her school day. I know, sounds innocent. Well, it should have been. But instead of a fun trip around the neighborhood in a loud and smelly historic vehicle, she is delivered to my front door, crying and bloody. Her excitement at seeing her Daddy caused an epic face plant on the sidewalk. In front of all her school peers. A face plant that massively skinned up her forehead, her knees and her elbows. A face plant that knocked out her front tooth, sending her leftover upper teeth through her bottom lip. A face plant that scratched up her glasses frame and one of her lenses. As we were sopping up the blood and doing an examination for missed damages, she asks us through tears "am I going to have brain damage?"
Youngest Daughter is not clumsy, but she is constantly crashing. We have come to the conclusion that she is a rough little girl in a petite, girly package. When this one falls, I have learned to just pick her up, dust her off and send her back onto the playground, telling the concerned mothers around me "She's fine. She bounces."
Youngest Daughter is also the child that will stick a pea up her nose because it fits. Yep, a trip to Urgent Care was required to have it removed. She is the child that will catapult over the dog, slamming her head on the coffee table, tearing her ear lobe in half. Another trip to Urgent Care (this visit was considerably more expensive due to the jerk that backed into my car, leaving behind $1500 worth of damage and no note). And she is the child that tries to climb the slide from the bottom, managing to fall off of that said slide, damaging half of her body. Apparently she is an expert at bouncing because, miraculously, she did not break a single bone in the fall. I have an ulcer now, but at least we are still cast free.
Each of these incidents (and many, many more) have gnawed at my insides. Even once the accident and the aftermath are concluded, I am still left with the knot in my stomach. Where are the commercials depicting the parents' addiction to Tums? And why wasn't I warned about the pain that my children experience causing me pain as well???? JCMT
Who knew you were such a great writer! Loved this post about your girls. I don't like those big boo boos either!
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