This thing appeared on his head immediately, all blue and alarming, after taking a header into the coffee table. I held him and tried to soothe him as he wailed and wailed and wailed, his legs kicking me as his body twisted in pain. My friend brought me the bag of pees and I pressed them against his head and realized that in doing so I had become my son's torturer. He looked at me with eyes full of confusion and terror: Why is my mother hurting me? Why is she doing this to me? I released him from my lap and he backed away from me, a good four or five steps. Big, thunderous sobs still wracking his little body, he surveyed the faces of those in the room, searching for safety. He looked at my friend and then at her husband and then back at me and fear registered on his face. "Everyone in this room is out to get me," he thought. "They ALL want to hurt me! They're all crazy like my mother!" He ran over to his diaper bag and tried to find something to comfort him there. He settled on his knit beanie since I had forgotten his blankie at home and stumbled back into my lap. And as I scooped him up again to rock him in the comfort of my arms, my friend's seven year old daughter said- with such genuine compassion and tenderness that it took my breath away- "Poor Jack. I wish I could take his place."
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Hematoma
This thing appeared on his head immediately, all blue and alarming, after taking a header into the coffee table. I held him and tried to soothe him as he wailed and wailed and wailed, his legs kicking me as his body twisted in pain. My friend brought me the bag of pees and I pressed them against his head and realized that in doing so I had become my son's torturer. He looked at me with eyes full of confusion and terror: Why is my mother hurting me? Why is she doing this to me? I released him from my lap and he backed away from me, a good four or five steps. Big, thunderous sobs still wracking his little body, he surveyed the faces of those in the room, searching for safety. He looked at my friend and then at her husband and then back at me and fear registered on his face. "Everyone in this room is out to get me," he thought. "They ALL want to hurt me! They're all crazy like my mother!" He ran over to his diaper bag and tried to find something to comfort him there. He settled on his knit beanie since I had forgotten his blankie at home and stumbled back into my lap. And as I scooped him up again to rock him in the comfort of my arms, my friend's seven year old daughter said- with such genuine compassion and tenderness that it took my breath away- "Poor Jack. I wish I could take his place."
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5 comments:
HOLY HEMATOMA!!!
I just took a tylenol on behalf of Jack.
I know, I know. It's so bad! Today it's not as hornlike and protruding, but it's still looks like he got in a fight with a rockem sockem robot.
When my daughter was nine months old she decided to become a climber. She celebrated this new skill by climbing over the tall end of her crib and landing on her head. I heard the "thud" and the screaming. By the time we got to the ER I was crying more than she was and the doctor was giving me the "poor new mommy" face. I spent a week holding her. Now I have a three year old son that looks like he's been through a war zone because he can't stop jumping off of things. I feel for you and I feel for poor Jack. The picture made me do the mom-breath-in thing. Poor little guy.
i think i had more than my share of those as a kid. my mum always called them 'eggs'. "dalyn's gone and given herself another egg on the head". its amazing how fast they swell up like that isnt it!? *d
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