dan today

good news by way of an update - dan's mild cold has passed - THAT was the reason for all the night waking and horribleness!

everytime a bad sleep phase passes, as this one just has, i think - thank goodness i didn't nightwean him after all.. the bother, the emotional stress (on him and on me);
plus there's some part of me that believes that, in general with children/parenting, things are the way they're meant to be..

but of course this is so general and sometimes untrue too. but in this case it feels like it seems to apply, i can't explain why..

but i am very glad this one has passed. i'd even taken to drink! (well, a shot of dessert wine)

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horriblehorribleness today...
went to a friend's birthday in a fantastic park (more on that later) with a racial harmony festival thing going on at the same time;

dan was happily playing on steps (while i was tensely waiting for him to one side, wanting to go check out the market stalls), when he stopped crouched on the bottom step, leant forward...... and (i could see this coming, but was frozen in place like a stupefied rabbit)... toppled and fell FACE FIRST onto the rough gravelly concrete below, his face taking the full weight of his fall.

i heard a crunch sound.. and thought - he's broken his nose. my first thought is a visual picture of the fine thin bones of his nose. my second thought is getting to him.

i leap forward and lift him to me.. that side of his face is all covered in fine bloody abrasions.. and of course he's howling..
but even though so many things are going through my mind, the main thought being on lifting his body closely onto mine, another one of them is an assessment of the damage. a quick scan, no deep cuts or scrapes, bleeding is from under his nostril not from inside, only light abrasions, please god don't let anything be broken.

thankfully we're only metres from the first aid tent. a passerby brings me there and carries my over-large bag. i give him boob and he calms, but the gauze dabbing with lotion and powder makes him really upset.
again, thank god for breastfeeding! how on earth would we cope without, with such wee ones?
the first aider, a grandmotherly sort, tells me i'm a good little mum, which is nice i suppose.

dan's fine for the rest of the afternoon, in fact has a grand time playing with ducks and kayaks on the launchpad. i even put 40c into a mechanical ride for him - it was a zebra, and i did it cunningly and secretly so he wouldn't make the mummy-put-money connection.

he's unaware of the horror of his face, red bruises and scrapes all over one half of it. (ETA: it doesn't look as bad in the photos!)
it's such a contrast to his happiness. in profile, when he faces one way, all you see is a perfectly happy and sweet angel.


although later in the day, he brought it up to talk about twice, and i did once or twice too; and he revisited the trauma and the fear and the pain (it showed on his face and his literally trembling lip), and we patted and talked through it.

needless to say, it feels awful as a mother. i can literally feel what they call the mother's heart; it's like my normal heart, but swollen and enlarged and tender with pain and feeling.

and when your child is suffering, what every ounce of your being wants, is to wrap yourself around them and engulf them, back into your body, where they'll be safe and innocent and untouchable and unhurt again.

but all you can do instead is to put your arms tightly around them, a boob in their mouth and comforting milk inside them (and don't forget the breastfeeding hormones!), rock and sway them, and croon the comforting song mothers have known since time began.