The bump was a good, loud, resounding one.
Our dining room table is made of heavy oak. Pretty hard on a little head.
The tears were immediate - loud, big... a wail.
I bit my tongue - the tongue that after a long day with two under the weather kids and a travelling husband wanted to say things like: "I told you to stop chasing the cat!" and "What were you doing under there?!".
Instead I held her and rubbed slow circles on her back. Let fat tear drops fall on my foot.
"It h-h-h-HURTS Mama!"
One day what hurts her won't be made better by a hug and slow circles on her back. So I bit my tongue and held on to my baby and tried to commit the moment to memory.
Memory that I hope will help when I feel helpless to stop her tears in years to come.
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Ex-pats repatriated - a study in reverse culture shock.
1 comment:
Beautiful sentiments. I've been trying to appreciate some of these moments more as well. I know the time will come all too quickly when my son no longer "needs" me to kiss his bruises, or when the kisses simply won't help as much.
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