Busted

If you’re a parent, you know the sound.  It is unfailingly prefaced by an unexpected crash and the anxious moment of silence that follows.  You instinctually cringe and mutter to yourself, “they’re OK, they’re OK, they’re OK…” but then it happens.  The stomach-twisting wail of legitimate pain – made infinitely unbearable because it is in the frantic voice of your own child.

I was emptying the dishwasher last night, admittedly grateful for the peaceful moment of solitude while Matt took the kids upstairs to get ready for baths.  There was the familiar thunder of playful steps above me…but then came the thud.  The silence.   And then THAT sound.  I flew upstairs to find Bailey huddled in Matt’s arms, her muffled sobs causing her little body to quake.  Matt quickly explained that she tripped in the bathroom and hit the wooden step stool.  My slight relief was quickly stripped away when she pulled her head from Matt’s chest and turned to reach for me.  Oh, the BLOOD.  It was more than a little bit gruesome and I’m pretty sure I saw Matt’s eyes bug out of their sockets, Large-Marge style, for the briefest of moments.  Miraculously, my inner stomach-of-steel Super Mom emerged from deep within, and I did my best to assess the situation and bark out an order or two.

In the end, it wasn’t much more than a significantly busted lip.  With the help of the “cold thing” (rag-wrapped piece of ice), and a long spell of singing songs in the rocking chair, we were able to pull through.  It was undoubtedly much more difficult for Matt and me than it was for my tough little lady.

It truly gives you pause.   The desperate feeling of helplessness that grips us when our children are experiencing pain or fear.  Knowing that we can only do so much to take the hurt away…  I am unspeakably thankful for the health and happiness of my children.  It is my greatest gift.

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It’s been almost 24 hours.  Don’t be fooled by the mock-sadness.

It takes a lot to keep this girl down.

And it didn’t curb the appetite.  Not one bit.