Eric: Can you bring me a new shirt?
Ali: Why do you need a new shirt?
Eric: Because mine has blood on it.
Ali: Um, why does it have blood on it?
Eric: Because Miles got blood on it.
Ali: How did he get blood on it?
Eric: He cut his head open.
Ali: How did he cut his head open?
Eric: He fell.
Ali: What happened?
Eric: He was running and tripped on a plastic shrub that decorated E's princess castle, and then fell onto the castle.
Pause. Anyone else frustrated by the dragging out of the full story here?
Dads--when relaying information like this, please just spill it all out to us Moms in one breath. I don't need to play verbal see-saw.
Eric: Can you bring me a shirt? Miles tripped on E's princess castle and the spire cut his head open. When I picked him up, I got blood all over my white shirt. He is totally fine; was a real trooper and is playing fine, now. E's Daddy and I stopped the bleeding, gave him a snack, and he recovered brilliantly. I don't think it needs stitches, but my shirt is a mess.
Ali: Oh dear! So glad he is okay. Will be there with a clean shirt soon.
End of scene.
But instead, with each trickle of information, I got more and more in a panic. Somehow, the delay signals to me that it is more serious than it really is. It's like when I was giving Felix a bath after Eric took him to his 6 month appointment and he made an off hand comment about how he did well with the lazy eye test. Oh? They did one? Huh. And over the course of a few more see-saws of information, I find out that the test involved an electrode-y kinda hat with wires coming out and they sat Felix in front of a screen and tracked his eyes. Eric didn't tell me all the details when he first came home because he was afraid I couldn't "handle" it. So he offers me little bites of information...enough so that I continue to ask questions and have to pry out additional details. Again, the prolonging incites panic.
Am I that much of a basket case?
Whoah. Wait. I had 2 difficult pregnancies. Delivered 2 babies without pain medication. Dealt with a 1 year old with a broken leg, high lead, a hubby with cancer, months of sleep deprivation...what's a little lazy eye test?
Back to the princess castle. The situation seemed to rest after I saw Miles and it appeared he had a little nick at his hair line. The bigger drama is that my husband thinks I am a wuss.
And then I gave Miles a bath a few days later...pause... he gets a bath every night, but hair wash night is every 3 nights. Resume...I gave Miles a bath a few days later on hair wash night, and saw this:
|From Dinner Antics and some randoms|
No one saw the 2 inch wound that the princess castle "knighted" my son with; could it have needed stitches? At this point, does it matter? And the truth is, for as timid, cautious, and dramatic as Miles is (people, he cries over the thought of falling), I am kind of glad he soldiered through this experience with a brave face and courage.
The past few months our lives have been focused on boo boos. The first year it's all about poop. And then the focus changes to boo boos once the little ones become more mobile. Miles pretends like his arm is completely incapacitated when he has a band aid on his finger. And as I've mentioned before, Scotch tape exists on many of his toys to serve as band aids for all of the "boo boos" that happen.
Today he threw a ball at his tent, and then had to kiss it all up and down to heal the boo boos.
And don't forget about all of my moles. I guess they need tending to as well. I get kisses on them routinely. And I take advantage of his willingness to kiss boo boos when I want a kiss. "Mommy's lips have a boo boo." Works every time.
And the best yet? Mile identified Mahna's spider veins (sorry for the reveal Mom) and immediately gave them his signature "boo boo kiss."
|From Dinner Antics and some randoms|
And the other day, it almost made my heart weep. I'm not sure why, but this "vignette" is now burned into my memory: Miles was in his crib playing with his wooden tools. Felix was getting a bottle from my Mom in the chair next to the crib. I was getting ready for work, but came into the room and was watching Miles enjoy playing with his tools. UNTIL...he started throwing them. I hate this throwing thing. And the kid has an arm. He's impulsive. But knows he is doing something wrong. He just cannot help himself. And then the blue wrench goes FLYING through the air and clocks Felix in the face. Cue intense crying from the baby. Did he mean to hit Felix? I don't know. But I immediately picked Miles up and put him on the quiet pillow and told him that he hurt his brother. I was stern and serious. Felix continued to cry, and Miles looked straight in my eyes and said, "Beebix kigh-ing!"
And then his own bottom lip began to quiver.
He was hurt. Worried. Concerned...and I think kind of confused about what was happening. Did I just hurt my brother? What's going on?
Miles almost lost it himself. His face was something I will never forget. And then my heart just, well, hurt.
I don't know how to explain what that moment was like for me, but it ended with me swooping Miles up after the requisite 2 minutes on the pillow, and telling him I loved him--but throwing is NOT okay. It almost makes me cry now thinking of the face Miles gave me when he realized he hurt Felix. Here I am, more affected by Miles's reaction to Felix's crying. Is that bizarre?
Maybe Eric is right. Maybe I am a wuss. I don't know.
What I do know is that this is just the advent of my boys' boo boos. Both real fake, moles, veins, bloody, teary...and that it won't be the last time my heart hurts seeing my kids in pain.
Motherhood can be a beast. But I'll be stealing boo boo kisses on my lips for as long as I can.