Our poor little 15 month old child is a hot mess.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. I adore her, she completes our family, she makes me laugh, she is silly and weird (see my shoes post: https://parentingseatpants.wordpress.com/2013/09/04/no-boob-required/ ) but she’s gotten the genes of a retarded monkey.
Born with severe but silent reflux, hasn’t slept a solid 5 hours in her life more than 10 times, has eczema, was born with a urachal remnant ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Urachus ) and accompanying belly cyst (and just for those of you keeping score, yes, it did rupture and require a culture), had surgery at 13 months of age, had four surgical complications, persistent infections, has been on seven rounds of hard core antibiotics within a four month period, and once that was cleared up she was then diagnosed with the auto immune disorder dermatographia ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dermatographia ) just last week at her 15 month checkup. She’s not had more than two solid weeks off of medication since she was five weeks old. Luckily she’s still a happy-go-lucky, smart, developmentally advanced, adorable little girl.
Enter Mama. Today I was having a very rare morning play date at my friend’s house with two moms who I haven’t seen in ages. (If you are wondering why, please reread the preceding paragraph) I’m holding baby girl who instantly decides that she wants to be put down. So I swing her towards the floor, chatting away, enjoying my semblance of freedom among women I really enjoy, not paying attention to what I’m doing.
I, in my haste, put my child down too quickly. Her head, accounting for about half of her total body weight, slammed into the linoleum kitchen floor. She immediately starts sobbing and I pick her up, snuggle her and apologize profusely, feeling like a complete ass in front of my friends. Yes, boys and girls, I just brained my child on the kitchen floor in perfect few of two witnesses. Baby girl is sucking on her pacifier, whimpering like a kicked puppy. I feel awful.
Then the blood starts. I can’t figure out where it’s coming from or what is up. Then I see there’s copious amounts of blood coming from around her pacifier. She looks like a baby version of Dracula. (No, NOT Edward. Or any other bullshit Twilight character. Stop it.)
Poor kid had a gaping, ragged tear in her upper gum. Of course I didn’t notice it at the time. Nope, not me, mother of the year here. It was over two hours later when I was putting her down for her nap that I first noticed how swollen her lip was. (I keep telling myself that it was because it took that long to swell). I peeled back her upper lip to inspect (as I’m trying to dodge flailing limbs because it clearly hurts and she does NOT want me messing with her face, at all!) and that’s when I discovered the chewed up looking tissue that was now part of my beautiful baby’s face.
I call the dentist to see what to do. They tell me to bring her in.
We narrowly avoided sutures, but she got a nice flush and an antibiotic injection (right in her gums). This is also, of course, my daughter who is terrified of doctors, all shapes and sizes.
There’s no funny punchline to this post. I only wish there was.
I know, you’re all going to tell me that things happen, we all make mistakes, etc etc, but I really just want my daughter to be and stay healthy. And especially not get worse because of my carelessness. We all beat ourselves up, over things more minor than this, but I can’t stop thinking that if I just paid more attention and wasn’t being so selfish she’d be fine.
Mama needs a sippy cup and baby needs more ibuprofen.
Is it Friday yet?
**Side-note: baby girl did hear me ask her sister if she needed a hug and ran to me exclaiming “Hug! Hug! Hug!” Over and over again, which is a new word for her. So hopefully there’s no permanent brain damage.