bloody hell!

Yesterday our kidder (I mean the younger of the two) scared the living daylights out of me when he flung himself out of the screened in porch onto the caliche dirt packed surface outside. I'm not sure he literally flung himself out - I turned to capture sight of him in mid air, sheer microseconds before impacting the ground below. So I didn't see exactly how he alighted from the step - but he landed sprawled face forward, his toes a good few inches from the house - somehow that told detective Momma that he didn't crawl off the step.

I only left him in that porch alone for a second - to help out the hubbie with what was apparently a 2 person ladder. He was attempting to maneuver it around the side of the porch to remove the inadequate insulating plastic that had been doing a poor job at keeping the screened in porch temperate all winter. The top of the ladder was wavering dangerously close to the screen, so he needed a second steadying hand.

I glanced at my toddling baby who was sitting happily engrossed with banging his wagon (totally NOT a euphemism), and I hastily opened the screen door and stepped out to help Daddy. Little did I realize that little man was hot on my trails. He's got a crazy extra sense for Mummy. He knows exactly where I am at all times - and if it isn't right there beside him (whether he needs me or not) he usually has something to say about it.

I think I remember hearing the screen door slam a second time as I turned (or maybe that was why I turned) and saw my baby in mid air. It's a single step down. Perhaps only 1/2 a foot. I've witnessed far worse tumbles on our dog walks, with kiddies in full speed toddle, tripping over rocks, resulting in bruises, grazes and scrapes.

But this one made my knees go weak, as when the poor little man lifted his head up he had what looked like a tiny red rose petal stuck to his forehead. It took no time for me to process he was cut, and I was on him and holding him before that petal had time to explode... But then it did, and blood started spewing out of the wound, pouring all down his face. Ever seen Carrie?

"He's hurt really bad.." My panicky tone shot at my husband, who ran after me inside to help  "ER!" I further panicked. Baby was crying hard and rubbing his fists furiously over the 'gash', smearing the bloody torrent into his eyes and hair.

I couldn't see how bad it was, and I became almost paralyzed with a sickening fear and tremendous guilt. My husband stepped up. I'm not sure where the damp flannel came from, but it was in my hands and I was gently cleaning his forehead. The bleeding subsided as suddenly as it had started. And again, I don't know how the first aid kit arrived on scene, but there it was on the kitchen table.

I put him on my booby as soon as he was calm enough to take it. He latched on very happily while Daddy dressed the outrageously teeny weeny cut on his forehead. Where on Earth did all that blood come from? I've been reeling about the amount of blood that was teeming down our poor baby's face ever since.

Last summer I did myself a massive disservice by watching The Stoning of Soraya on the instant Netflix. Baby was only a few months old and napping and nursing 24 hours, so I was a couch hostage most of the night. I kept myself entertained by foreign movies with subtitles so as not to wake the rest of the brood. The Stoning of Soraya came up on the recommended list and I guess I put it on out of morbid fascination. I still can't get the terrifying images out of my head. I had thought the massive amounts of blood that poor Soraya exuded had been far-fetched - a nasty stunt to further shock the audience (like that was needed).

Now I know better. I think I'll be forever traumatized by the bloody image of my littlest boy's face hidden beneath a curtain of crimson red.

Minutes later baby was doing fabulously, which was far from the case for Mummy. I'd thought I was pretty solid in a crisis. My husband (before he was my husband) had even said so with blatant admiration on our very first New Year's Eve together, when I calmly brushed an AWOL ignited firework off my lap.

The first time our eldest sustained a bloody injury, I'd had to put both kid and and Daddy back to pieces. I'm pretty sure it's the guilt that's the paralyzing factor. When Daddy had shouldered the blame he was too torn up to rationalize. This time, I was the guilty party, and I was so very upset with myself for putting one of my babies in harms way that I couldn't think straight for panicking.

Plus there was a hell of a lot of blood!