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?