Busted lip

Monday night Adelaide was sitting on the edge of the futon with her legs hanging over the side just swinging back and forth. She looked like such a big girl. I was sitting right next to her watching. I continued to watch as she lost her balance and fell forward. She landed face first on the hardwood floor. Now that Adelaide is a full-fledged walker, she falls often. It looked as if she had at least somewhat caught herself with her hands, so I didn’t move particularly quickly as I went to pick up and comfort her. Adelaide’s silent scream turned into a full-blown wail, and I bounced her in my arms as I walked around the room. Then, I brought her down off my shoulder and saw blood gushing from her mouth — no joke, she looked like she had bitten into one of those special effects blood packs, the red liquid spilling out her mouth and dripping down her chin.

My calm demeanor turned to panic as I considered the damage that may have been done. I didn’t know if she had bitten her tongue, busted her lip, or knocked out every one of her tiny pellet teeth. Of course I assumed the latter. Tim had entered the room by this point and provided the voice of reason. He suggested I take her to the sink and clean her up so we could better assess what had happened. I still couldn’t tell exactly where all the blood was coming from, but the activity reminded me to breathe.

I took Adelaide up to her room and rocked her in the glider. At that moment, I was so glad to still have a breastfeeding relationship with her. As she nuzzled against my chest, she closed her eyes and I could feel her muscles begin to relax. Rested in Mommy’s arms, she nursed calmly, blood still on her face. And just like that she was comforted. She was home.


The aftermath. Adelaide’s blood on my shoulder and raccoon eyes from smeared make-up when I cried too. It was just a busted lip.

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