With blood oozing from his forehead as we made our way into the hospital, I thought to myself, “They are going to call CPS. I am a terrible parent!”
I was wrong. The nurse looked at my son and back at me and said, “Coffee table or the corner of the wall?”
The correct answer was coffee table, twice, as I had to explain at his second ER visit.
“With boys you just try to keep them alive,” the nurse said laughing as I scolded myself for not setting fire to the coffee table after the first time.
Once we powered through the younger years with our boys, our daughter arrived.
“Aaahhh … sugar and spice and everything nice.”
Wrong.
While I would not define her as a tomboy, her extracurricular activities include cheer and competitive horseback riding.
Yet not one of her three — yes, three — wrist fractures were due to either elected activity. She is simply clumsy. Clumsy to the point where when her trainers and coaches call me about something, the first thing said is not “Hi!” it is, “Everything is fine…”
I have probably (mistakenly) become complacent in the fact that her fractures, sprains and more have been due to her “grace” rather than her activities.
Although when her 5-foot-9 height, and wingspan, moved her from the top of the cheer team pyramid to the bottom, I was not disappointed.
Turns out though, that was not enough to prevent the injuries from coming.
Just in the last couple of weeks said daughter has taken up boxing, albeit not intentionally. Turns out she can take a punch like Rocky Balboa and keep standing.
The first pop in the face came from her beloved unicorn, Georgia Peach, who despite years of training and desensitizing is still a fight-or-flight animal.
One swift unexpected move and our sweet Peach tossed her head and smashed right into our daughter’s nose.
We all stood and watched in shock, waiting for the cries of pain to echo in the barn while blood dripped from her nose onto her brand-new show shirt.
Georgia — uninjured by our daughter’s face — was now wearing lipstick which had transferred from our daughter to her own nose. She stood wide-eyed, probably debating if she should bolt away or apologize for being dramatic.
But the show must go on! And it did. (Shout out to Advil and Kleenex tissues.)
A few days later we all settled into summer break. Summertime, you know, when parents expect more bumps, bruises and scrapes on their kid’s arms and legs. But not our daughter; why change up the new routine? Doesn’t everyone practice cheer stunts on a trampoline…?
Another blow to the face.
This time, she FaceTimed me with a swollen, scratched and bloody eye. But she wasn’t crying. Her friend was though.
“I feel terrible!” he friend who landed the (unintentional) punch said.
“Don’t feel bad,” I told her. “This stuff happens to her all the time!”
Literally.
Makes me wonder though, is it too late to invest in a bubble wrap body suit?
Motherhood Part II is a recurring column in the News-Sun.
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