A Picture's Worth a Thousand ... OUCH!

I remember when Aidan used to go through growth spurts, he would fall a lot, as if his brain couldn't quite keep up with his newly-lengthened limbs. Last summer, Aidan was covered head to toe (mostly legs) in cuts, scrapes and bruises, and I secretly feared the looks I might receive from people who might be questioning my parentings skills. I'm starting to wonder if Grace is going through a similar stage, as we often see her sprawled on the ground as much as in an upright position.

My little girl got up after her scooter tumble a few days ago with hardly a tear, being the tough little nut that she is. But every nut has a cracking point, I suppose, and yesterday Grace experienced her first true catastrophe. I always said to Don that our fearless-bordering-on-reckless girl would be the one who would be summoning us to the emergency room, but thankfully yesterday's mishap didn't go that far. She was outside playing by herself (Aidan was out there, but in a different part of the yard) when suddenly we heard "that cry" -- that sound that instantly makes your heart pause in beating, the parental instincts firing away in hyper-drive, knowing that "that cry" is legitimate: something was definitely wrong. Don was the first on the scene, and I heard, "Oh, Sue, oh Sue ..." before I got to her (even my mom ran downstairs to see what happened -- she's the Queen in handling these kinds of situations). There was my baby, brown eyes huge with fear and pain, face wet with tears and snot and blood, her lip fat and swollen, her nose oozing goo, her entire right eye scraped clear of skin. Why is it that as a mother, in that instant you feel like it just happened to you as well, with your heart breaking in the process?

She cried for a long, long time -- I think longer than I've ever heard her cry (not counting infanthood, and even then she wasn't much of a crier). She repeated over and over, "I hurt! I hurt! I fall! I fall!" (she tripped over ... yes, that blasted scooter). Leave it to Compassionate Big Brother to step in, hugging her, rubbing her back, saying soothing things to his dear little Gracie, praying over her ... it was sweet. Her tears finally subsided after digging into her sticky sweet applesauce, and she hit the sack early, falling into an exhausted sleep.

This morning she awoke with less redness but an eye that is swollen half-shut, like some toddler prize fighter after a grueling match. She's happy, though, so I'm happy. But still ... oh, OUCH! What, oh what, kind of day will we have today?!