Hey buddy
Can you come here for a sec?
What’s up Papa?
There’s just a problem in the bathroom
I point to the floor and draw his attention to the used tissue lurking, in plain sight. Then to the counter, where his inside-out undies and shorts perch, ready for me to lean on as I wash my face.
Such is life in a family.
Sorry, papa
It’s OK bud, just take care of it next time please.
He grabs the undergarments and makes his way over to his dirty clothes hamper. Spins around once, sneaks the clothing underneath his leg, and posterizes his imaginary defender.
Displays of athletic prowess are not complete, however, as he sprints like a cat and leaps onto his bed.
And that’s when I hear it
Clonk
It’s a dull, muted sound, two hard surfaces in contact.
I’m just around the corner and out of sight, so I rely on ears to tell me what’s what.
But there’s not a sound
And that’s what worries me.
I poke my head around the corner and begin to comprehend the clonk.
He’s lying on his back, face beet red, mouth open in a silent howl, both hands clutching the back of his skull
And, onset of tears and the ever-so-slightest of whimpers
Oh, buddy
Like all great moments in parenting
I ask the question that doesn’t need to be asked.
Did you hit your head on the wall?
Gritted teeth, and a reponse
Yes
and follow it up with the most unhelpful of comments
you need to be careful
Because, that’s really what he needs to hear in this moment.
Nice one, Papa.
These are the worst moments. The ones when that little piece of your heart, out there in the world, is in pain. The moments you wish away
Because when your child suffers, you do too.
I backtrack and catch my error, pivoting to a
oh, I’m so sorry bud, let me grab you some ice.
I step aside for a moment, holler down the stairs asking J to bring the ice pack up, and return to the bed. Cradle his head and place a gentle kiss on his forehead.
The tears slow.
I reach behind, feeling for telltale goose egg and swelling, but there’s not much.
J hands me the blue, crusty pack and I fumble around his drawer to finally wrap it in a T-shirt. Ease it onto the back of his head and ask him to hold it in place.
She curls alongside him, as we attempt to sandwich away the hurt.
And as we cradle him, cradling ice, wiping tears,
I am transported back in time, when he was just the size of my arm, snug
and helpless.
He, furious, in pain, inconsolable. Me, suffering all the same, wishing this feeling away.
And I’m struck
By how those moments, once a daily struggle, suddenly feel so few and far between.
He doesn’t need me as much
and I’m not sure how I feel about that
And, so.
Instead of wishing this moment away
When he snuggles closer, I breathe it in
And remember