Posts Tagged ‘falling’

Baby C is spending more and more time on two feet, determined to master his walking skills.  He is now toddling more than ever.  Yet, as he gains his balance, he’s also gaining quite a few bumps and bruises.

I try not to over-react when he falls down, limiting my response to a “whoa” or “ooopsie” rather than rushing to him in fear (as I would like to do).  Apparently this has been getting through to him, since when C fell for probably the 22nd time today, he actually said “whoa” and didn’t cry.  My big boy!

However, when he fell, catching his face on the ottoman (and the truck sitting on top of it), earning a large rug burn just under his left eye, C cried.  Not that I can blame him. I would have cried too.  In fact when I dropped a frame on my toe this morning, not even breaking the skin, tears leapt to my eyes and I’m 29!

I am starting to worry though, that with the growing number of bumps and bruises, scratches and scrapes, someone is going to report me to Child Services.  I know C’s physical fumblings have to be somewhat common, but why don’t I ever see pictures of other children with their faces all banged up?

And in my mind’s eye I can see all the trouble C is going to get into in the future.  I can see a lifetime of bruises stretching out before me.

And every time he falls (even as the teenager in my imagination), I can see C getting up and saying “Whoa!” with increasing delight.


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My sister has a friend who is me. I know that sounds odd, but she is. She is the younger, shorter version of me. Same goals, same dreams, same faults, same virtues, same propensity for getting our heart crushed. And I can see all the steps laid out before her. I know how she feels about the people in her life, both past and present, because I felt that once. I know mistakes she wants to make, because she can’t help but make them, just as I did. I want to help her, stop her, save her, but should I? or better yet, can I?

I was talking to her last night and my sister looked over and said, you guys are the same person. We were discussing her becoming friends with her ex-boyfriend and I scoffed at her “we’re just friends” speech she was giving me. I scoffed because, as my sister said, I knew how she was feeling, because I had felt that way. I knew what she wanted to do and what she was going to do, because I had done it.

It’s strange to find such a strong kinship with a young woman I am unrelated to, since I have two sisters. I share many things in common with my sisters, but in matters of the heart, they have always been very different from me. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m the oldest, as is Kristina, and we must blaze our own trail. We have no one to shine a light on the direction we should go or the trials we’ll have to face if we chose one path or another. We also are full of the ideals of youth far beyond youth, because we are the first born and no one has taught us that these ideals cannot be. I still hold on to mine, in some ways, though not as fervently and with much greater cynicism than I once did. But these ideals still sleep in my chest, ready to awaken at any time. Kristina’s are still awake all the time and constantly moving.

Because I know her and I know me, I want to protect her from the trials ahead. I want to be the big sister to her as I was to my sisters. I want to show her the cliffs before she goes over them and just where the hidden bridges are to higher, safer places. I want to shelter her from the pain that I suffered. But if I do that I know I will be doing her a great disservice. If she is me, she’ll find a way to experience the pain one way or another, or rather the pain will find her. She has to learn on her own how to navigate the rocky edges of the world, or one day she might fall and be unprepared to climb her way back up.

I suppose in the end, I just wish her luck and pray that maybe she isn’t me after all. Maybe her path is different. And hopefully her path is better.

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