Chloe was sipping her formula peacefully in my lap this morning, making slow, predictable circles with her arm as she drifted off to sleep. Then as if by some half-nightmare, she jolted her arm and clocked me in the collar bone with the hard plastic lid of her cup.
While I must admit, I was shocked by the attack and also by the pain a ten month old baby could inflict on me, it certainly wasn’t my worst sippy cup thrashing.
Two days before I was scheduled to return to work from my second mat leave with Ellie, she was facing me on my lap drinking from her cup. She raised both arms above her head and we smiled in delight at whatever fun game she was dreaming up. From out of nowhere, she held the handle securely while bashing me on my upper cheek with the cup, giving me my first black eye. Good game Ellie.
How do I begin to try to cover this up? Knowing my mascara celebrates its anniversary alongside my oldest brother’s wedding date, it probably wasn’t going to do much good. Chapstick was the only other make-up I owned, how would I begin to cover this up? Could I arrive my first day back at the office as a mime? It gets worse….
The following day, (the day before my return) I got out of the shower and just before turning to close the solid glass door, I was hit in the head and brought to my knees. The door had come off of the hinge and fallen on me, cutting my temple and pinning me to the ground.
I started calling Greg, first trying not to panic as I knew the girls would come running if I was at all upset and nobody needs their children to see them pinned naked under a glass shower door, unless you really are a mime. I’m sensing the irony.
I quickly realized by not panicking, Greg was in no rush to come and hulk the door off of his naked wife. I could hear him sliding his kitchen chair in probably thinking I wanted him to bring me a new towel or replace the toilet paper roll, or replace the felt chair leg cozies because I heard his chair scratch the floor, all of which could wait until he finished his yogurt.
I was blacking out and decided to just start yelling for help.
Greg sauntered down the hall and found me in a pool of water and blood with an unravelled hair turban on the ground next to me.
If my face didn’t scream bar fight with just the one black eye, two should remove any doubt.
