Friday night Cordelia stayed the night with her grandmother, an epic sleepover (read here) that we have been hearing all about since the big day. While she was away Eric had an opening at the museum. He has been working hard, curating some super amazing shows this month and Elise and I went to show our support and see the exhibit.
I like to dress up a bit for events and Elise always wants to wear a dress. So the two of us got ready. I put on some new heels that look mighty nice, but as we were about to leave I second guessed my choice. I imagined myself falling in the gallery, not quite farmiliar with the new heels, and hurting Elise. Best to try those puppies out when I don't have a small child on my hip. So I went with my old faithful heels and everything was fine.
We went to the gallery opening. Eric gave a great lecture. Elise was charming, dimple asparkle ( fact: I made that word up). I chatted with friends and enjoyed the show. When Elise had a mini-meltdown about hummus I knew it was time to head home and put her to sleep. I walked in the door and kicked off my heels, thankful that I had made the wise choice in footwear and had not taken a public tumble (fact: I regularly tumble in public. I am klutzy). Elise and I changed into pajamas and I was getting ready to put her to bed.
One of the last things we do before bed is to close the blackout drapes on the windows in the girls' room. I took the pink polka-dot ties off of the first set of curtains and set them carefully on the dresser. Elise was on my hip, chatting casually about Cordelia being away for the night. I turned around to walk to the second window and stepped onto a toy that had been left on the floor. It might have just hurt had it not been on the wood floor. The toy went sliding and my left leg was along for the ride. Meanwhile my right leg was firmly planted on the rug that lays next to Cordelia's bed. It happened in an instant, but all that I remember is focusing on Elise, trying to carefully set her down as my body lost control. I was successful and I set that child down as gently as a flower drops its petals. She sat there dumbfounded. I was doing the splits, fully. Van Damme Style.
Now I think I am fairly flexible, but the splits are something I am not comfortable doing. Pain radiated up from my left knee which had taken the full brunt of the fall.
"Ouch." That is all that I said. Then Elise burst into tears and ran away from me. I knew that she wasn't hurt. I assumed that the fall had just startled her. It took a moment to coax her back into my arms, after I had gotten up from the splits of course. We talked for a minute about how mommy had slipped and had gotten a little bit hurt. She wanted to see the bruise that had already started to form. She looked at my knee and then pulled up the leg of her cupcake pajamas to see if she was injured in the same spot.
Since then I have been thinking a lot about that; possibly because she regularly asks to see the now massive black/purple/green bruise. I have been thinking about how babies don't understand that there is a difference between people, that your hurt isn't necessarily their pain. They don't have that sense that their person has a beginning and an end. Isn't that so very beautiful? Sure, we feel the pain and joy of others, but not in the same way. We have such a very clear sense of self. Of course that is also beautiful in its own way, but part of me wishes that we could hold onto that connection a little bit as we grow through life. Living without that "not my problem" mentality would just be good.
The only other time that I can think of that the sense of self has somewhat blurred lines is throughout pregnancy and for some time after birth, through nursing at least, perhaps always.
Anyway, no conclusions to share, just thoughts.
Alright, by request here is the bruise a few days later