Mommy has a little problem with her memory. She means well; she lies in bed at night, composing great letters for this blog to help her remember all the cool things you are doing. She wants you to be able to know when things happened, and not have to live with "Hm...I don't really remember." No, instead she'd like to say, "Go read your blog. It has everything." This is because we assume you'll be curious about everything like me. It's a fair assumption; You should see how you sit and stare at people. People who are talking to you. People who are not talking to you. People who you think might need to talk to you. Nosey. That's what you are. But curiosity must just start out looking that way when you're a baby.
Anyway.
When you ask me when was the first time you got stung, I want to be able to say it was August 1, 2009. We had gone to the Saturday market and were enjoying our time there for the first time in weeks. I had just declared defeat with the crazy coupon project I was working and we went out for breakfast and to buy some veggies and meat from our favorite farmers, Amy and Chad. You were with your daddy while he talked to Chad and all of a sudden you started to scream and cry. Chad said maybe it was because his beard was a little longer than it should be, and we kind of laughed but I was worried. You are not the type of baby to burst into screaming tears like that. And you were inconsolable. I was sad. I couldn't help but feel like that was a hurt cry...the same kind of cry you cry when you get a shot. We got you out of the carrier and I just held you myself for a little while. Sometimes mommies do that; it's not that we can really DO anything to fix the unknown problem, but we feel better just laying hands on you and feeling you to make sure you're alright ourselves. You quickly settled back down as we headed back to the car. During the walk is when we noticed the big, red welt on the base of your thumb. You had been viciously attacked by some sort of insect. The next day it was a little blister and seemed to me like an ant bite, but I can't for the world of me figure out how an ant got on your thumb when you were being carried by your daddy. I guess we'll never know exactly what manner of evil insect got you, but now we have to be extra certain to keep an eye on you if you're bitten again, just to make sure you don't have an allergic reaction. It's mostly gone down now, and you never even acted like it hurt you after the initial bite. Never tried to scratch it or acted like it itched. That makes me wonder if babies don't notice things like that, or since you all don't have a frame of reference if you just don't know that you can do anything about it so you just suffer through it. Sad, really.
You had a good first on the first, too, though. Your cousin Seph had his fifth birthday party out at an equestrian center not far from our house, so you got to ride a horse for the first time!
I wish I could have caught a picture of your face the first time you saw that horse. It was as if you thought, "THAT IS THE BIGGEST DOG I HAVE EVER SEEN!" The pony let you ride him a few steps while daddy held you. You pet his neck. You were completely entranced. It was precious. We were going to go on the hayride to the petting zoo, but it was getting near dinner time for you and so we left after your horse encounter. In a move that might just win me "mother of the year 2009," you experienced another bad first on Monday, August 3. We have always sort of propped you in the corner of the sofa and been able to run a plate to the kitchen or put laundry from the washer to the dryer. That's what I was trying to do when I left you on the sofa that day. I had put the little half circle pillow on the outside of you so that if you fell over for some reason, you wouldn't fall off the sofa. But I couldn't shake the image of you falling off. You were just too big now. You just seemed too nosey. And then there was the dog and there was the cat and they were walking around...but off I went to the laundry room to throw some clothes from the washer to the dryer.
That's when I heard it.
*THUD*
You hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. Head first, of course, because it weighs the most of anything on your tiny body. And - of course - you hit your face on the power supply to my laptop.
You were crying so hard when I picked you up and I felt terrible. I just pet your head and told you I was sorry for being an awful, neglectful mom. That I would never leave you unattended while elevated again. I pulled you off my shoulder to check you out and make sure you were ok and your mouth was all bloody. You had hit your nose and lip, and the inside of your mouth, where your lip and gum joins, was bleeding.
I wanted to die.
I made my baby bleed.
I was pretty surprised I didn't end up crying myself. I certainly felt like I should. But I didn't, and I think I didn't because when I walked away and left you pushed securely in the corner of the sofa, I KNEW you were going to fall. So mentally, I was prepared.
But that doesn't make it better.
You bled off and on the rest of the afternoon. You even woke up with a bloody sheet when you took your nap, and when you turned your face, it would hurt the tender and bruised puffy lip you sported and it would make you cry all over again.
I gave you a little Tylenol to help with the pain and let you suck on some ice to help with the pain and the swelling.
You have since fully recovered.
Your grandfather was funny; he kept telling me not to let you go to sleep because you might have a concussion. I got mad at him for saying that, but I could only be indignant because I had already asked your daddy if I should worry about you possibly having a concussion. He said if you didn't throw up you were fine.
The last first to report happened yesterday.
Another good one. Well, good to me, anyway.
At least they seem to balance out, right?
I took you to Furman to see Miss Kay, Miss Helen and Miss Karen because it was Miss Karen's birthday. We had picked her out some pretty stripey purple carnations and I had wrapped them up in pretty paper. You can't show up at a party without a gift, you know. After the party wound down, you and I stayed to chat with Miss Kay and Miss Helen. You were showing off, making your funny squishy face and starting to babble. That's when it happened.
You said "Mmmmmmmmmmmama."
My jaw hit the floor.
Miss Kay and Miss Helen started clapping and cheering for you.
I just said, "Well, you've never said that before!"
It was nice to finally get some recognition after the two months I've been listening to you say "Dadadadadadadadaddydadadadaddydadadadadaddy."
I'm still not sure you associate the sounds you make with either of us, but when we got up this morning and started to walk upstairs you said, "Dada." and I said "He's upstairs" and you said, "Mama" and I said, "I'm right here."
It was so cute.
YOU are so cute.
Many people told us that tonight as we walked around town for First Friday. One woman said that you looked like a porcelain doll and were just beautiful.
As you can imagine, this is not a horrible thing to hear. In fact, I am always open to hearing how beautiful my child is.
And so now my task is to make sure you grow up to behave as pretty as you look.
Love,
Mommy
