infinite verses

I remember someone telling me “Boys just get hurt.  All you can do is help them along with the bumps and bruises and pray that the next one won’t be as bad.”

Quite the song of parenthood.

I can recall my boys’ first major injuries very well.  The visible scars are constant reminders. Ironically both were head injuries.

Verse One-

Thanks to a 3 year- old neighbor using a driver he somehow found in OUR garage, Big brother was whacked on the side of his 4 year old head with a no- holds -barred full swing.  Everything was going in slow motion as I saw what was coming from a distance. I bolted towards the driver willing to take the hit if necessary, trying to grab the club from the little hellion’s hand because indeed, someone was going to get hit.

 I was too late. 

I still remember the sounds; the thud on his skull, the thump as he hit the ground (ironically not knocked out from the blow) and the disapproving cry of the neighbor boy as I yanked his lethal find from his hand.  Neighbor boy’s mom came out and she had the nerve to be calm telling ME to be calm, that ‘it was an accident’ and it wasn’t the little hellion’s fault.  I remember trying to ignore her as I was concentrating on my child.  Finally, I turned to her “calmly” saying...

“You need to take your son and leave.” (full mama bear mode)

The blood was horrific, as most head injuries are.  I tried my best to calmly coach him through it and make sure he did not see the goopy sticky red stuff oozing out of his head as I used my sweatshirt to hold against his head and make it stop enough to see how bad it was.  Luckily, it was not a huge gash, but enough to take to the ER and be treated.  He was actually pretty tough, not complaining of the pain and throbbing as much as the blood.  He did not want any part of that on him.  He checked out okay and was sent home with a glued head and bandages.

(Chorus) “I remember watching him that night as he slept.  It was quite an emotional night as I listened to his sweet slow breathing.  I was so thankful he was okay but the reality was knowing this was the first of many, some not as bad and some possibly worse as he gets older.  Sometimes the injured body, sometimes the injured soul..

….I still shudder at the thought and pray.”

Verse Two-

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon.  Handsome and I were on the couch watching a peaceful round of golf on television appreciating the shots and the scenery.  I heard the boys giggling from Little brother’s bedroom around the corner.  All was good until we heard a high pitched scream.  We then heard Big brother yell for us.

“MOM! DAD! HE’S HURT! QUICK! HE’S BLEEDING!”

I bolted to the bedroom as I saw my 2 year- old whimpering on the bed while my 5 year- old was crying and shaking telling us what happened.  He felt terrible and was so scared for his little buddy.

“We were jumping on the bed…(whimper)… then falling……(whimper).. like we were going to sleep.  He hit his head on the bed when he fell backwards!” (sobbing)

I looked at the back of his head.  Once again, the blood was everywhere. Big brother immediately remembered his incident and the scary bloody mess, and started to cry in panic.  Little brother caught a glance of the bloody towel and after a wide eyed double take, his crying became panicked as well.

Two boys are having meltdowns. 

Handsome, who was allowing me to take control of the situation, was doing his best to help.  He was fetching different things from around the house; going back and forth across the hall and in and out of the room as I calmly asked him to bring a dry towel, then a wet towel, then a phone and a sucker (something for Big brother to hold for Little brother while he licked the tasty candy, therefore both were distracted).  It was enough to control the emotion in the room, but not the injury at hand.

Once again, it wasn’t a huge gash, but the blood wouldn’t stop. So I took him on to the ER.  I remember he was unusually quiet and calm.  He did not make a sound, his big blue eyes stayed locked on mine.  He checked out okay and once again, this time Little brother was sent home with a glued head and bandages.

(Chorus)  “I remember watching him that night as he slept.  It was quite an emotional night as I listened to his sweet slow breathing.  I was so thankful he was okay but the reality was knowing this was the first of many, some not as bad and some possibly worse as he gets older. Sometimes the injured body, sometimes the injured soul…

...I still shudder at the thought and pray.”

Yes,quite the song of parenthood.

It continues on in infinite verses.