As we close the door on
infancy, I sit and think about how innocent, foofy haired, and porcelain skinned
my babies are… were. These days they are far from that! They are innocent no
more as they fight for toys, scream for attention, and undermine each other.
Their hair is thicker and slicked with dirt and food. Their skin is battered in
toddler mishaps and discoveries. Each bruise and scratch with a tale of
adventure.
Jameson is still recovering from Hand Foot and Mouth. His skin is discolored from blisters, peeling and flaking as they heal. A few bumps from walking as he tailors and finesses his new skill. All are very minor penalties.
Parker on the other hand, is finding out that his recklessness and fearlessness has consequences! This week he has come home from Preschool with a few more severe, self-inflicted punishments of his robust little body. I can tell he is my son because upon pick up he has to tell me just how he injured himself that day. He shows me, tells me it hurts, what he did to cause it and quickly mentions that he needs a treat so he doesn’t cry (always with an ulterior motive). On Tuesday he came home with a band aid on his left index finger. He somehow cut it on a gate at school. It was deep enough to bleed and shred the skin a bit. On Wednesday, asPreston is putting
him to bed, I am called into Parker’s room for an investigation. It’s pointed
out to me that Parker’s left ear his deeply bruised at the top. I am holding his
ear, looking inside and out of the slightly swollen area as Parker giggles. We
ask how it happened and he comes up with “Peyton at school did it.” He’s 3 so
who really knows? It doesn’t seem to bother him. Thursday’s injury was the most
brutal of his wounds for the week. He didn’t show me until I was unbuckling him
from his car seat in our garage. He had a wet paper towel in his hand and said
his lip hurt. He puckers up and there I see 2 definitive teeth marks on the
inside of his lip. It’s bruised and swollen. Ouch. He says he did it going down
the slide. I pop a couple children’s Tylenol in him and send him off to play.
The next day it was still swollen and looked rather gnarly. I forgot to look for
an Ouch Report at Preschool, but talked to the director. Sure enough, he was
trying to go down the slide head first. That one is going to take awhile to
heal.
I do think I created a monster, that or pain relievers taste too good. Later that night, he had to go poop. He went, I helped finish up as any mom would. As he pulls his pants up, he promptly puts on his pouty face, looks down at the floor with a slight mischievous smirk and says “Mom, my poop hurts… I need some Tylenol”. Boys.
Jameson is still recovering from Hand Foot and Mouth. His skin is discolored from blisters, peeling and flaking as they heal. A few bumps from walking as he tailors and finesses his new skill. All are very minor penalties.
Parker on the other hand, is finding out that his recklessness and fearlessness has consequences! This week he has come home from Preschool with a few more severe, self-inflicted punishments of his robust little body. I can tell he is my son because upon pick up he has to tell me just how he injured himself that day. He shows me, tells me it hurts, what he did to cause it and quickly mentions that he needs a treat so he doesn’t cry (always with an ulterior motive). On Tuesday he came home with a band aid on his left index finger. He somehow cut it on a gate at school. It was deep enough to bleed and shred the skin a bit. On Wednesday, as
I do think I created a monster, that or pain relievers taste too good. Later that night, he had to go poop. He went, I helped finish up as any mom would. As he pulls his pants up, he promptly puts on his pouty face, looks down at the floor with a slight mischievous smirk and says “Mom, my poop hurts… I need some Tylenol”. Boys.
I did, however, sneak in a
rare Mommy Moment with Parker that evening. Despite his exhaustion (from a field
trip to the circus where he missed out on a nap) and overexertion I managed to
do something I haven’t done in at least a year if not longer. He had
cried through his whole bath (because he didn’t want a bath) and had cried the
10 minutes before bath (because he didn’t want a bath). I rinsed him, wrapped
him in a towel and sat down in the recliner with him to calm him down. We rocked
for probably 10-15 minutes. It was enough to quiet his whimpers. I looked down
to see I had rocked my first born to sleep. All his newborn days flooded my
memory. I found myself studying his small features; the roundness of his nose
(how it imitated the first time I saw it on the ultrasound), the fullness of his
cheeks, his long lashes and the peach fuzz that coated his face was glowing from
the last remaining daylight coming through the windows. His laughter was now a
warm breath and his smile now stillness. I sat in that moment thankful for the
calm in a child that’s always on the go.
