It was a rotten, rotten day today.
It is the weekend. I woke up grumpy, for no particular reason. And by mid-day I was utterly pissed at myself for being pissed. I was angry because I was grouchy and me being angry at myself made me more grumpy and well, it’s a viscous cycle.
I somehow managed to get some lunch on the table and had a fed, clothed and bathed baby too by noon. I then spent the rest of the afternoon scrubbing, scouring, scratching and cleaning every available surface and item in my kitchen. All the cleansing rituals proved cathartic and slowly my mood improved.
Just when things were looking up, my uber- adventurous little one does a four-feet high, face- plant from the bed. There is a awful moment of silence and then a shrill, siren like wail. The wail that signifies true hurt. The wail that literally rips my heart (the metaphorical, romantic notion not the organ) and tears my soul into shreds. The worst part- The Mister and I were both in the room when it happened.
I tear her away from the floor, and engulf her in the “it’s alright” hug. There’s blood on my shirt and hands. And on her face. There is a ugly feeling in the pit of my stomach as well.
A meticulous examination and palpation ensues. It’s a facial injury, right up my alley. But it’s so much harder to restrain and examine when the hollering “patient” is your flesh and blood.
At the end of the exam, the diagnosis is a lip laceration and blunt injury to the upper gums and lips with a consequent hematoma (blood in the tissues basically). The lips are notorious for their vascularity (blood supply) and their propensity to swell. We stem the bleeding but there is no way she will let me ice the injured part. So, now I have a 14 month old with a huge lip which makes her entire angelic face look wonky. The wonky face will therefore be a constant reminder of the fall (and a reliving of the whole ‘heart-ripping-soul- tearing’ routine) every time I see her, for the next couple of days at least.
Some further unpleasant things happen thereafter as well (not related to the baby- falling).
There is a lot of sobbing, moaning and hiccough ridden breathing for the rest of the evening. Thankfully though, by bedtime there was some gingerly smiling as well.
In short, it was a rotten day.
I wish this blog could always be sunshine and peonies, and not so sour and rotten. But life is my muse, and therefore I can only manifest what my muse inspires.
And oh! Did I mention- it’s my birthday today.
We, as a couple/ family don’t do birthdays and anniversaries, so nothing special. We sometimes remember these days after they are long past (if our parents and close friends forget to wish us that is). There is usually no special plans made, no gifts exchanged. We are odd, we are told.
So no big deal. Just another day, a typical crummy day.
Does it matter that it’s my 30th?
Till next time..