We have four kids.
Four very different children, yet alike in many ways. One thing is for certain, I react to their injuries according to their personality.
My oldest I tend to worry about the most. She’s my only girl and she doesn’t complain very much, but if she does I immediately think we need to seek professional help and I concoct all sorts of awful scenarios. Like, recently she has been battling headaches. First I dismissed it, then I thought hormones, then I started to pray, “God, please don’t let it be a tumor!” Turns out she needed glasses. Dur. She’s my favorite girl and now I can call her ‘Four-Eyes’.
This kid is a champ. I spotted a little discoloration on his arm one day. Found out that, he nearly amputated his arm in a swing at a friend’s house a few days prior to me noticing the bruise. As I was gasping, “Seth! That looks awful, does it hurt! You could have lost your arm!” he laughed and said…
“It’s a little itchy, calm down Mom.” Then he went about his day. Sometimes I need to remind him to treat his flesh wounds. Yesterday he asked me what the big spot of yellow stuff was oozing out of his ankle, “That’s poison Ivy.” “Oh. No wonder it’s so itchy. Should I put something on it?” He’s my favorite red-headed kid.
This child feels great pain when he loses a toy. He cries at the thought of other people being sad, but he doesn’t like to cry in front of his friends. So a stubbed toe on the playground will cause him pain, but he’ll keep running. A stubbed toe at home will require large buckets to catch all the tears and earplugs to protect my hearing from the wails of agony. Luckily he recovers quickly and then has ten billion questions to ask me about how his injury will heal and when will it stop hurting? Then he has to ask at least four hundred more questions about a variety of other subjects before I tell him to please go away. He is my favorite little kid and he acts the most like his father of all our children which is pretty darn sweet, though Clay reacts to injuries a bit like my oldest son and just recently held up a finger that looks a bit more like a cigar than a digit and said,”I think my finger is broken.” and then he went about his day.
Houston, I think we have a problem with this kid. Today he fell down and hurt his “belly-putton” and the sobbing started. Sometimes he tells his sibling to, “Run and get MOM!!!” That worked the first five-hundred eighty-four times because when my kid is running and yelling, “MOM! Levi is hurt!” I think it’s got to be awful, blood, guts, stitches, ER., but no. He’s usually needing just Me. Just a kiss, a hug and my presence in the room for a bit. He’s needy. Today when he was crying he crawled up in my lap, needed covers, needed his back rubbed and when I said, “I think you’ll live now.” he hugged me tight and whimpered, “No, I live with you.” And that is what I’m afraid of, he’s going to live with me forever, because he’s the baby and he loves his mommy. He’s got me right where he wants me, putty in his little pudgy hand. Stinker. He’s my favorite little stinky monkey head.