My baby hurt himself on the playground today.
He apparently was running around with his buddy Jace. Somehow, he tripped on a tree root and fell. Face first. Onto a tree. His lip is cut up, and he has two large matching bruises on either side of his forehead.
It happened well before I picked him up from school. But when he saw me afterwards, he started to cry. And I wanted to cry. But I didn't.
Why? Well because I needed to be there for him. I didn't want him to know that the sight of his poor little face sent a familiar wave of fear through me. It is so funny how I never had that instinct before I became a mom. But boy, the second he was born, I knew I'd have to fake being brave about a trillion times over.
Then after that horrible incident on the playground today, what do you think he did while he was playing with his friend Wilton on the little grassy area outside the preschool? Oh you'll love this one. He got his head stuck in a crepe myrtle tree. And he screamed for me. And somehow, I managed to run over and calmly lift him up until his head slipped right out from between the two branches. I hugged my crying boy, and made sure he was OK. Then I went over to my friend, and I couldn't help it. I laughed. Because it was either that or burst into tears myself. My mommy nerves were all done.
Just like when he had to have a CT Scan. He was two. He had been sick with a high fever for a whole week. The fever broke on a Thursday night. I remember specifically the feeling of relief wash over me when I went in to check on him before I went to bed and I felt his cool forehead. I even remember saying thank you to God, I was so relieved. But when he woke up the next morning he couldn't walk steadily. It was like watching him on a rolling ship. We finally got a diagnosis of Post Viral Ataxia. It's caused by high fever. No telling when it would go away. Or if it would go away. (Of course it did. After about a month.) But in order to get the diagnosis, he had to have the CT Scan. I went with him. I will never forget it. He was strapped down and I could stand beside him, but I couldn't touch him. And he cried and cried and screamed when the machine went because it made loud and scary noises. I thought I would die listening to him scream. Towards the end, he just kept repeating, "I'm all done, Mommy. I'm all done." Over. And Over. Again.
Can you say awful? Can you even imagine a two year old, maybe even your two year old showing such fear and you aren't even allowed to touch him? And all I could do was say, "Almost baby. It's almost all done. You're OK. It's all OK." I kept it together all the way until he was safely tucked into bed that night. Then I came downstairs and sobbed.
That is some hard and exhausting work to do as a parent. My heart is racing just remembering that day. But I know that was just one of the first of many. Am I up to the task? You bet your sweet bippy, I am. I will do that with no hesitation any time necessary for my little guy.
With all this said, I truly am all done today. I am going to fix myself a nice cup of hot tea. If I was a big drinker, I'd add a shot of something to it. But tea is fine. I hope tomorrow is a better day for my boy. Mommy's nerves can't take it anymore.
(Don'tcha just love "You bet your sweet bippy"? I even liked typing it. So of course, I had to type it twice.)