We didn’t quite make it a year between visits to the walk-in emergency clinic. There are three things I have learned from the early morning trip to have two-year-old fingers checked out after a door slamming incident:
- Telling personal stories on a blog means never having to guess when past major life events occurred. They also lend you strength you may have forgotten you had.
- My little one is accident prone, tough as nails, and sweeter than I thought possible. My big one never means to hurt anyone and her feelings may be more wounded than her sister's digits if we're not careful.
- I’m still woefully and beautifully imperfect. And I am still ok with that. Shame need not apply when I'm busy healing my baby and keeping the big girl from falling into the shame spiral.
Here's an updated 2016 version of that story from last year:
One of my girls had an accident this weekend. Though it was terrifying at the time, it ended up being relatively minor. Now I can claim a parenting merit badge my mom never earned: held my daughter as she got
stitched up x-rayed and told she'd merely lose a pinkie nail.
It was an accident, yes, but it could have been prevented. I could have had my hands on the kids instead of
sitting an inch beyond an arm’s length away lying in bed three feet away, utterly exhausted by another night of tag teaming sleepless children. I could have said “no, honey a five year old isn’t big enough to carry her one year old sister yet.” screamed "no, you will not slam that door just because your sister is trying to come into the bathroom!"
But I didn’t.
And we ended up at the walk-in med center,
covered in blood all swollen up – and sidewalk chalk and dirt from what was supposed to be a typical Saturday spent in a yard just awakening to spring still in pajamas, eyes full of sleep.
We’re so proud of our girl for healing so quickly and handling it all so well. And I’m pleased to report that I’ve emerged from shame’s shadows.
Truthfully, the horrible guilt dissipated within twenty-four hours. (Likely that’s because much of the swelling did too).
Truthfully, I skipped shame all together this time because a shamed mama isn't a strong, compassionate, in control of her emotions mama who teaches her girls to be same.
No longer blinded by self-recrimination, I can simply hold my little one tight, overcome with gratitude and rendered speechless by how precious she is to me (and by utter exhaustion).
gravity won sibling rivalry made us all losers in that split second, but I forgive myself.
I’ve decided that I am mother enough for my daughters – even if I’m woefully and beautifully imperfect.