We were in Theo’s room last night after wrangling him into his pajamas (an all new adventure where he insists on flipping over on his changing table the instant we lay him down) and I sat him on the floor so he could practice his crawling. He was playing with a book and decided to go belly to the floor, which he has gotten pretty good at. You can tell that it’s a calculated effort, not just him clumsily falling backwards or to the side. I was sitting in the rocker and his dad was sitting on the floor. We were just talking away and casually watching Theo squirm around in an attempt to be mobile (which he definitely is, but I wouldn’t quite call it crawling…yet).
Next thing I know he’s up on his hands and knees, and then he’s not…he’s falling forward towards the floor and I could not move fast enough to save him. I watched from behind as he went face first onto the hardwood floor. He lifted his head up and the three of us shared a moment of silence…that moment where we all wait to see if he cries or goes on about his business. Not seeing from the front or the side, I wasn’t sure exactly what hit the floor first. He started wailing that “I’m hurt” wail. It’s so much sadder than the “I’m hungry” or the “I’m tired” wail because “I’m hurt” makes you feel like an instant winner of the “World’s Worst Parent” award. You feel like your baby should never have to experience pain under your watch. I’m always telling the dada that things are going to happen, he’s going to get bumps and bruises, scratches and cuts. But when it happens, I’m the one who is more traumatized than anyone. The dada picked him up and held him up to his shoulder so I ran around to see if there was any blood. He was crying with a big open mouth so I could see in there and yep, there was definitely blood.
At that point I panicked and swooped him away (I don’t really know why, it was just my impulse) and carried him into the kitchen, while telling him how sorry I was over and over. I stood at the freezer looking for a stupid teether or bag of peas or anything that I could hold up to his mouth to try to make him feel just a little bit better. Dada found a teether and we went to the living room for a more thorough inspection of the wound. There was blood around his brand new top teeth and I was scared to death that he knocked one loose. Looks like he just bit his upper lip and maybe his tongue, but I didn’t try to wiggle his tooth to find out.
So my poor, sweet baby has a busted upper lip. It started swelling immediately and now the right side is way out of proportion with the left. We put some orajel on it, gave him a bottle, and he went to bed without a fuss. He was ready to get back down on (his soft blanket thankyouverymuch on) the floor and play some more after we applied the orajel. Hopefully he’ll always be a tough little cookie.
I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so sad for him. Okay, I felt pretty awful about the 4 month shots. I think he got 4 of them and that was terrible. However, there was nothing I could have done to prevent that pain. We should have been paying closer attention or had a rug down on the floor or a blanket or SOMETHING! I know this is just the beginning of countless boo boos but man. I didn’t know it would be so tough. That thing grown ups always say about “it hurts me more than it hurts you” might really be true. I’m realizing that now.
~C~
