Losing my innocence

Paige had an accident yesterday, a pretty nasty one. She was "helping" me make the beds (you gotta start 'em young), and her feet got tangled in the sheet she was carrying. She toppled forward, hit her head, and cut the top of her cheek on a storage basket that Owen and Mitch had disassembled so the little metal thingies that connect the sides of the baskets were exposed. (What kind of baskets require assembly? Cheapo ones that come with unassembled shelving.)

Paige's cheek turned purple and swelled up immediately, and she was not having the ice pack, so the swelling got pretty bad. Now she's got a shiner that Rocky Balboa would be proud of, and everyone who crosses our path asks, "Omigosh! What happened to her eye?"

Clearly the explanation of what really happened is a little complicated. The "she hit her cheek on a basket" story sounds unlikely unless I include the part about the metal thingies in the basket, and that requires detailing the mechanics of the baskets and possibly even admitting that I got the basket/shelf contraption on clearance at Target for $14.99 (because I'm terribly picky about my kids' bedroom decor). And that's a long explanation to offer, say, the lady who works the carpool line or the checker at the grocery store.

So when people ask, I lie. To make the answer simpler, I say, "She fell and hit her face on a toy." And then, because I'm lying, I worry that I look like I'm lying. And then I worry that, because I look like I'm lying, people will think I my beat baby, because why else would I lie? Of course I didn't punch my infant daughter in the eye, yet I find myself straining to "look innocent" even though I AM innocent.

It's not the first time I've felt this kind of anxiety, either. Owen and Mitch have both shown up at doctor's appointments sporting nasty bruises, and I've found myself plotting what to say and how to act if the doctor commented on them, even though the injuries were from roughhousing or falls on the driveway, and I had nothing to hide.

So why all this work to cover up something I didn't do? Is my discomfort coming from some repressed guilt I have about how I raise my children? Do I secretly loathe myself for having spanked them or yelled at them? In my heart of hearts, do I see myself as an evil mommy?

Or am I just completely neurotic?

A mommy first

The first time a child of mine will go under anesthesia: tomorrow morning 7:15. Paige is having the tear duct in her left eye surgically opened. It's a very, very simple procedure but...well, you all know what comes after the but...

The hardest part will be the fury we will face tonight at 1 AM when she wakes up and wants to nurse, and I turn her away. She is going to be livid. I'm actually a little afraid of how angry she'll be. When that child wants her mama milk, she will scratch and claw and pinch and lunge for the mammary until she gets her way. Nursing: such a warm and bonding experience. Until they're old enough to draw blood.

The upside is that my own mama is spending the night tonight so she'll be there to take care of the boys tomorrow morning (we leave for the hospital at the crack of dawn). Because my parents live only 15 minutes away, they never stay with us. Our visits are always a couple of hours long, and then we all go back home. I think that's why my mom and I still adore each other's company so much--we never spend enough time together to grow irritated and resentful. Still, it'll be a treat to have her over to watch Heroes with.

This rambling post exposes my nerves, I fear. I'm sure I'll have a post in a day or two detailing the heart wrenchingness of watching your one year old being wheeled away into surgery alone, without you by the bed to give the doctor steely eyed "I dare you to screw up" looks.

She'll be fine. I know. But...