Quite a bit of time has passed without writing. That’s because we’ve had some family things come up that have caused us heartache. Nothing that can be shared in these hallowed Minky & Me pages, though (some things, afterall, are sacred). Suffice it to say that life for us has gotten very difficult as of late. Difficult and sad.
Happier entries in the coming days, hopefully.
A great day. We went for a long walk, ate pastry, enjoyed seeing our daughter play at the playground, and chatted with neighbors.
Mink has some new words. Hi is one. She pronounces it, “i.” I recorded her saying hi on our answering machine message today – quite a coup since she tends not to say what you ask her to most of the time. Hat is another one. That is pronounced, “ah.”
Somehow she understands how cheese is spelled. While finishing up some errands on Saturday, Layr suggested we give her some when we got home but spelled the word instead of pronouncing it. You do not want to be riding in the car with a hungry toddler who’s protesting the fact that you haven’t just handed over the nee already. When he finished spelling, she immediately said, “nee.” There were no other clues as to what he was saying.
We had a great potluck here yesterday. We invited friends with babies. There were fourteen adults and their children. Chaotic describes the afternoon well. There was a lot of delicious food and yummy desserts.
The beauty of entertaining is that now, after hours of toil yesterday, I can sit back and marvel at how clean my house is.
Last night Coco fell again, into the wall of her bedroom while holding her Olivia jack in the box (damn, that thing is cute – take a look).
There was beaucoup de blood once again and lots of inconsolable crying. It was awful. Luckily it was not as bad as Thursday’s injury (read the entry below for all the gory details). There is a big slice on the other side of her lip now.
Moving on though, there is a new cinematic masterpiece in the Movies section. It’s called Where’s Daddy?
This morning as I was about to throw on clothes for the day, I heard the most horrible thud followed by hideous crying in the hallway outside my bedroom. I rushed out to see what had happened and saw my baby sitting in the doorway to her room, hysterical. It was clear that she had fallen into the corner of the door frame. As I picked her up, I saw a mouth full of blood.
I could never be described as being calm in a crisis, least of all when it’s my own child. Months ago when she started getting mobile, it took me a little while to tone down my reactions to spills. Now, when they happen and others gasp or say “oh,” I can simply pick her up and say “you’re all right.” Until this morning.
When I saw all that blood, I lost it. I wore a hole in the carpet walking up and down the stairs, holding her, saying “oh, oh” again and again, not knowing what to do. I was afraid to look in her mouth. I called Layr at work and though we had spoken just a few minutes before he didn’t answer his cellphone right away, which was agonizing. Once he did I told him she had fallen but I wasn’t sure what in her mouth was bleeding. I decided I should look – duh – and call him back. Her teeth were all there but she had a fat lip and a red line on her chin.
Back up in the bedroom, with her still crying quite inconsolably, I tried nursing her. That’s always a cure all. Layr was back on the phone with me waiting to hear my assessment of the situation. I had just finished saying that I wasn’t really sure if she needed to go to the doctor or not. She was definitely still shaken up but otherwise her mouth seemed ok. Then I saw her tongue. It had several dark purple gashes in it. It looked awful. At that point Layr said he was coming home. He had the car.
I was worried when he got here that he’d say “oh, she’s fine.” He’s very busy this week and really couldn’t spare the time to come home. I was so shocked and upset that I couldn’t be objective about how bad it was. Layr took one look in her mouth and said we should go.
Our usual doctor doesn’t work on Thursdays but the doctor we saw was great. He had a wonderful way of interacting with Coco while trying to get a look at her tongue. When he was able to see it he said, “the teeth went clean through”. I had to get up then and leave the room. I went back in after a minute or two when I could tell the exam was over.
Evidently biting your tongue all the way through is a good thing. It allows the cut to drain and heal better. In six months he said we wouldn’t see any sign of it.
Once or twice throughout the day, I got a glimpse of myself in the mirror, pale as a ghost. Hours later I looked no better, but my hands had stopped shaking.
These days Minky is handing stuff to us while simultaneously saying, “yeahyeah.” We are stumped as to what this means.
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The problem with saying “no” with a straight face, I’ve learned, is that often the misbehavior necessitating the no is amusing. Actually, that’s wrong. It’s not what’s being done that’s amusing. It’s the approach. Minky knows that I’m going to say no when she begins to, say, run into the bathroom (because some idiot has left the door open).
Our bathroom has not been childproofed. There are no special hinges keeping her from opening the vanity, no club-like thing on the toilet. The truth is I’ve grown weary of baby proofing and prefer now to just close the door rather than buying all that plastic stuff that makes it hard for me to open things.
So, when the door is left open it creates an exciting opportunity for exploration. Who can blame her? It’s the forbidden room with the shiny curtain. I’d find it exciting, too.
Knowing, as she does, that she shouldn’t be going in there, she’ll look back at me, chuckle, and trot in. Her laugh says, I think it’s very funny to see you get all in a lather because I’m headed into the bathroom. It’s the same thing when she tries to climb onto the open dishwasher door.
I made the mistake months ago of smiling while saying no. I tried explaining at the time that though I was laughing what she was doing really wasn’t funny, she needed to stop – to stop immediately. After a bunch of attempts to get her to listen to me when I say no or stop, I’ve had to change my delivery. The new method, a firm tone of voice, eye contact, followed up by distraction, seems to work.
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