It happened with our oldest, Victoria. She was a few months old and had on a zip up sweatshirt and I was trying to get her undressed after we got home. The zipper was a little stuck. I don’t know if it was caught on a piece of her shirt underneath, but I finally got the zipper tugged down, but not without getting some skin when the zipper came down. She had a line of blood on her chest and she was bawling.
Then… I was bawling. Like most of the night too… I would wake up and cry some more. I felt like such a failure as a mom. I’m the one that carried this baby for 8 months (she was born 4 weeks premature due to HELLP Syndrome) and I was supposed to take care of her and make her feel better when she was sad. And instead, I made her cry… and bleed! It took my hubby reminding me every time he saw me crying that it was an accident, I didn’t do it on purpose and that I was still a good mommy. And he prayed for me… and I finally got over it.
Did I forget? No way! I think she had bled before from getting shots, getting a little more than just a nail clipped during finger nail clipping times (this is why I do not clip my kids’ nails… I get too nervous about those fast fingers), but it wasn’t on my watch.
Bobby came along and his first bloody incident was when he fell forward and hit his eyebrow on a wooden toy with rounded edges. He just happened to face plant into it just the right way to cause a split right above his eyebrow. Our nanny brought him to me and he had blood streaming down his face. Surprisingly I didn’t cry. I sprang into action. Patted his head with a wet washcloth. Saw the gap, took a picture. Called my hubby, called the doctor’s office, did a Facebook sale. We eventually we took him to the ER. He was fixed up by a plastic surgeon. I definitely stood back in the ER room. It was small, we had the double stroller, and I was trying to keep Victoria out of the way, so Ryan was next to him while he got medicated and stitched up. I felt really bad for my baby boy, but I don’t think I cried. Maybe I knew he was a tough boy and he could handle it. Not like the girls couldn’t, they are also very tough, it’s just that they are my baby girls and I, myself, am a sissy… literally. My nickname is Sisi.
Well… last week, that’s when I started writing this post, it just takes a bit longer to complete things now that we have kids… and three of them… Alexandria had her first bloody accident. We now know that the hinge on the new refrigerator is only slightly higher than the freezer drawer and there is not nearly as much space as there appears to be (objects in mirror…). She is now standing everywhere and always wants to be where the action is. I was back in the bedroom and I heard her crying in the kitchen, not just mad crying because someone took her toy, but hurt crying. She managed to put her hand just in the right spot so when the refrigerator door closed it took a layer… Or two… Of skin with it. I cried all over again. Ryan had to comfort me again. I wasn’t even involved this time, but still, my baby girl was in pain. I thought it was super deep, but it wasn’t. I put her on the boob and she was done crying. I love how comforted she is by nursing. We cleaned her cut, put on a Band-Aid, and then a sock on top because she had it in her mouth the instant after we put the bandage on. The sock came off overnight. I couldn’t find the Band-aid, so I thought maybe she swallowed it, but she was still breathing, so I kept sleeping. I did wake up several times that night, but not to cry, just to keep feeding her when she would wake me up.
She’s healing up really quickly. I’m very impressed with how tough she is. She just keeps on going.
This is our last baby that I will carry in my body, unless the Lord has other plans, but it makes me appreciate all these baby moments. Even the ones that make me cry. I think it also strengthens me because I know what she’s already been through and how strong she really is.
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