Thursday, 23. August 2012
So the other day I was telling someone how I’ve stopped writing on my blog because I’m scared of being attacked by all those perfect mommy types who describe motherhood with words like bliss, euphoria and sunshine.
Don’t get me wrong. Harper has lots of shining moments.
But, sometimes, um, you know, she is a TOTAL DICK. And, sometimes, I am an ASSHOLE of a parent. And, it’s all so confusing when you don’t know what the F you are doing from one day to the next.
Thankfully, Harper has finally started using some of her sign language so we can at least figure out some things. However, she has her signs crossed, and apparently clapping means more, and the sign for more means hungry, but whatever, we have a Morris system, and it works.
I had recently come to a nice point in our mother/first-child relationship where I wasn’t stressing over her every move. Like, I had finally stopped walking behind her to make sure she didn’t fall and break an eye. I had finally let Laef’s mantra – “She’s a toddler now. She’s going to have falls. She’s going to be OK” rule the house. I was comfortable with letting her be a walking, falling, knee-scratched, shin-bruised 14 month old.
Then one morning while we were doing our normal morning routine, there was a loud sound followed by a cry. This was a real cry. Not the bullshit cry Harper does when I tell her that she can’t eat the roll of toilet paper or Sanchez’ food. (Although, those cries do sound like the world is ending). Anyway, the reality was that her chair had fallen over with her strapped into the high chair. She hit her head, and for a few seconds her eyes rolled back in her head and she lost consciousness.
We spent the morning at the ER. There’s no sadder place to be. There are tears and fears. There are what-ifs and hows and whys.
It was a giant relief to learn that Harper was fine. She had a bump on her head. By the time we left the hospital, her and Laef were back to their old ways, happy to be home.
I was fine too. After I drank a bottle of wine in my bed under the covers. I was trying to erase the memory from my brain. Then Laef brought Harper into the bedroom to show me her new daily required attire.
I don’t always laugh at Laef’s jokes, but this helped. It took a couple of days, but the flashbacks eventually faded. Now it’s a story we can tell later.
By the way, when you share a parenting story like that, you get to hear other people’s horror stories.
“My brother ate a piece of acid when he was 1, and he was OK.” – Anon
“My daughter ate a cigarette butt at the playground once.” – Anon
I guess after hearing a few gems from other people, I figured I could get back to the blog.