*** Personal Post Alert ***
I very rarely share deeply personal things about myself or my family on the Blog, but I felt compelled after an incident late last week. I had been hoping to write about the girls' Frozen birthday party, but other things came up and completely derailed my plans.
Last week Toddler G slipped in the shower and hit her head on the step-up. It was horrifying. There was a gaping hole in her forehead, right above her eye, and I swear I could see her skull (I'm trying to convince myself it wasn't). Thankfully there wasn't much blood, but my husband and I still did our share of freaking out. After getting to the ER, waiting only 3 hours, and having a plastic surgeon stitch what seemed like layer upon layer upon layer of her forehead (I almost fainted mid-process and had to go outside), she's feeling perfectly fine and starting to heal. But I spent the rest of the day crying because somehow, despite all my diligent watching and cautioning, something horrible happened to my baby. It made me feel completely helpless. If I can't protect her against slipping in the shower, how will I be able to protect her from the possible dangers to come?
I am the one person (for most of the day) that has complete control over the girls. I know what they're doing at almost every moment, know what they need, what they want, can understand even their most uncomprehending babble or screaming. How could this happen? It still brings me to tears. All I can envision is her blond curly head face-down in the shower. I was right there and it still happened.
I know there are far worse things that can happen to a child, but this is the worst thing that's happened to her, us, since she was born. It was heart breaking.
And to make matters worse, once the healing has finished, we've got a year of breaking down scar tissue right in the middle of her forehead. In a world that is, sadly, very superficial, we've got to try to make what could be a garish scar invisible. I hate having to think about that, because I try not to focus on looks, weight, etc. But one of the first things the ER nurse said to us was that, because Toddler G is a girl, she'd really recommend us calling a plastic surgeon. Its hard enough being a girl and woman, now we've got to worry about scarring. Sigh. All those little nagging insecurities about my appearance are bubbling up to the surface. You know, the ones that I thought I got over in my early 20's. I guess they never really go away.
I'm trying to be optimistic - she's only 4, we can be super diligent about helping her heal to the best of our ability, and she doesn't have any internal injuries or concussion or anything life-changing. She's still her bouncy, if now completely rude, self. Whatever rude button was pressed when she fell, we've got to un-press it - I'm tired of being called a stupid head.
Ok, thank you for listening! I'm done crying and feeling sorry for myself. On to design-y stuff next post.