Yankee Drawl

Posted By jayna on August 25, 2010

While I was away at my mom’s house the last two weeks, I decided to just go ahead and be all “Meh” when it came to the blog. I’m ridiculously spoiled with our Fios internet and my beloved iMac here at home and generally spend the majority of all computer sessions there banging my head against the desk as I crash the poor computer again.

The week long lapses are enough to show that “Meh” was taken in full context.

Since I’ve been home (all of two days, but still) I’ve found that the “Meh” was still lingering.

“I’m boring.” I thought. “There’s is nothing interesting I have to say,” I lamented. “All I ever do is post pictures anymore,” I complained.

And then my kid went and got assaulted at the playplace tonight.

Helloooo, something-to-write-about!

I mean, obviously that is the first thing I found myself thinking as I cradled a bloody-mouthed MJ in my arms, rushing through JCPenny’s to the bathroom.

Actually, no, it was a little later, once the gushing blood had subsided. And the crying had stopped. I’m not quite that . . . absorbed. Usually.

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Our little family headed out this evening to the local mall, in search of a phone case for me, food for the husband and some burnt energy for the girls. As soon as we got there, I kissed the husband and left him at the soft play to wrangle while I shopped. Apparently, that was the kiss of doom.

As I headed back in the direction of the soft play, I stopped at one last kiosk. The price was right and the perfect cases were beckoning me and my wallet. But, before I even got so far as narrowing down my choices, that super-spidey-mom-sense kicked in. I told the haggling vendor I’d be back later and walked away.

Just as the husband came into view, I heard the familiar sound of hysterical toddler crying. My toddler. Unmistakably mine. I watched as the husband picked up a sobbing MJ, who kept shaking her head and burying it in his chest. Panic was written all over his face and E was hovering, concerned.

I swooped in and scooped her out of his arms as only a Mama can and he hurriedly told me that she had been bitten by another little boy. My stomach flipped. He said he thought the little boy was going to give her a kiss, but opened up and took a big bite instead. My stomach flopped. She screamed, showing a mouth full of blood. My stomach flipped and flopped and tunnel vision kicked in. I told him I was taking her to the bathroom and to stay there with E, we’d be back, and bolted though the aisles of Penny’s.

In the bathroom . . . oh, the blood . . . paper towel after paper towel, until finally it slowed. I stood there for what felt like hours, but it was only minutes. Her crying turned into hiccups as she nursed a bit. As we sat, the anger started. With only half the story, my mind filled in the rest . . . I don’t let other kids touch her . . . it’s not okay for others to kiss her . . . what was he thinking . . . why would he let that little boy that close . . . wasn’t he watching her . . .

The mind is a judgmental thing when unleashed.

The two of us calm, we walked back out to the play place and met a very worried E and the husband. The full story was told, quashing all that anger and blame. The husband was going to get her and stop the little boy, but wasn’t quick enough. The alleged kiss did turn into a full on bite, leaving broken skin and bite marks on both the inside and outside of the side of her mouth. The kid’s dad did apologize, scolded and then got the heck outta dodge.

I’m still not done processing the whole thing.

It’s amazing how something like a little bite can leave the feeling of being violated. I’m guessing I wouldn’t be quite as worked up about it had there not been mouth to mouth contact with broken skin. But, there was. And I may be the most paranoid mother in the whole world, but I’m going to worry. A lot.

I’m also going to cuddle this sweet little girly. A lot.

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