19 July 07
Growing Pains
Man alive! I have to breath life back into this site. And I will. One step at a time. I won’t even bother saying what I’m going to do or how I’m going to do it. I’m not even going to say when. I’ve done that crap before and probably let people down, including myself. So this time no words, just action, one…step…at…a…time.
Now, this article is about my lovely little boy. Who else, right? I mean growing pains wouldn’t apply to me anymore. I have pains and all, but they don’t have anything to do with growing, unfortunately.
Anyway, two little upsets to share, a little catch-up.
Nooooooooooo! Not the Teeth!
About 6 or 7 weeks back (I know, not exactly timely here), my son, Elyas, was doing what he often liked to do when he first started stumbling around on two limbs — walking circles around our granite coffee table while hanging onto it with one hand for balance.
Before he was born we had someone tell us that we should get rid of the table, at least until the child was past the toddler stage. We didn’t do it, however, and in fact Elyas kind of adapted to the killer table; always seemingly aware of the edge and never bumping his head when getting up or down. I guess if you beat the odds long enough, though, the odds give way the other direction, and thus was the case.
So back to the circling. On this particular day Elyas had the television remote control in one hand. He loves that thing; a master button pusher if there ever was one. He also has an iron grip, and tends not to let go of anything he has hold of, even at life or death moments, which I guess is a good thing. I mean if you’re hanging onto a flag pole five floors up, or in a desperate knife fight, you don’t want to lose your grip.
So he’s walking, and I’m laying on the couch right next to him, kind of watching him and the idiot box both, and Hanane was doing whatever; chores or something. Elyas makes another round about the table and starts giving the remote more attention than his feet.
He reaches the table corner, but instead of turning he takes an extra step outward into open space, untethered from the stability of the heavy granite. He realized his predicament almost immediately, and from the side of my eye I could see him do two things almost simultaneously: first he panicked and started doing the earthquake wobble, but instead of just dropping safely to his knees (stubborn boy), he awkwardly lunges back towards the table in an evil half-twist move. Evil because his feet actually don’t move and as his upper body falls towards the table, his faces vectors toward the granite edge. He valiantly tried to bring up his hands, but one missed completely and the other firmly gripped the remote control.
The sound was terrible, both sharp and muted. Remembering it now still puts a shiver up my side. I was only a short reach away from him, but I couldn’t do anything to prevent it. Yet I was on my feet in an instant and bracing myself for the arcs of blood I expected to see shooting from his face, as by this point he had slid to the floor out of my direct line of sight. I knew from the sound he hit his teeth good, but I figured he’d taken his nose or lips off in the process.
Miraculously, his skin was intact; not a scratch anywhere, but sure enough his two front teeth were broken. He started to cry, but only because he was startled. I picked him up, put him on my lap and immediately checked the damage while giving him the comfort talk. The right tooth was broke worse, having a big diagonal chip that went from the top edge of one side to the gum line of the other. That tooth is now a nice fang. The left tooth broke off more or less evenly; it’s now just a bit shorter than it was before, with a little extra nick on the inside edge.
While inspecting him, I could see two pieces of tooth sitting on his tongue. He obediently allowed me to fish them out, which after doing I discovered were actually three pieces. When his mouth was clear, I gave the remaining porcelain a closer look. I was concerned that maybe he had a vertical crack or something that risked splitting right into the tooth canal, which would have been hell on earth for sure. That didn’t appear to be the case, and after a little bit more comforting he stopped crying. Probably not more than about 45 seconds of crying in total. I was pretty proud of that fact, but when I looked at my poor boys teeth I felt an empty pit deep inside me.
Hanane, expectedly, was in a worse state of shock than Elyas was, and understandably so. I assured her he was okay, but we both couldn’t help think about his little smile, which he’s always flashing, and how he’s going to look like snaggle-tooth boy for at least the next several years. Nevertheless, thank Allah he didn’t hurt himself worse and also that it was with his temps rather than the final pair. I’m sure the tooth fairy, out of pity, will be extra giving when the time comes.
Hanane did take Elyas to the dentist, but as I expected, being they were baby teeth and all, the dentist didn’t do anything.
But Wait, There’s Blood
Ah yes, the inevitable blood, and scars. I’ll keep this one a bit shorter since I was at work at the time.
It happened literally just a couple days before we left to Morocco. Hanane was already on leave from work, using (or otherwise losing) a crap-load of vacation time she had saved up. I had worked a bit late, which is more or less the norm these days, and when I came home no one was there, but the car was out front nonetheless.
I had no reason to suspect there was something wrong, I mean Hanane could have taken the boy for a stroll, or whatever, but I had that funny feeling and began tip-toeing around the pad for warning signs. When I peeked in the bathroom, there was the warning — a rather bloody wad of tissue on the counter. I looked over on the hamper and a white washcloth was also fairly marked-up with blood. I knew instantly it was Elyas.
I whipped out my phone pronto and called the wife. When she picked up I didn’t greet her but rather asked point blank what happened? She began to cry, and it was not pleasant. My poor wife. Between the sobs she managed to tell me our prize stud had fallen in the bathroom and split his eyebrow wide open from one end to the other. She was in fact still sitting in the waiting room with our bleeding son on her lap as she relayed the details. My own blood was starting boil as she told me this, but then she announced the nurse was finally calling them in. I gave a quick salute of encouragement and hung up.
It was near two hours when they came home, brought by Hanane’s brother, who she had apparently called to pick them up. It was one of those moments that really ticked me off for not being able to get them myself (still can’t drive in France yet), because when it’s your family, your wife and son no less, you want to do things yourself.
Elyas was asleep in Hanane’s arms and she put him into his bed. Apparently the med squad gave him some mild knock-out dope so they could sew him up without him freaking. It gave me a chance to have a good look at the injury; it was indeed a cut as long as his eyebrow and it took six stitches to close it up.
Again there’s a good side to the bad: the cut was directly within the eyebrow hairline, so even though it’s significant, it’s partly disguised by the eyebrow.
It’s now been about three weeks, or a bit more, and the stitches have long since been removed. The scar is nice and pink, clearly a scar, and it’s still kind of visible despite brow hair. Hence, we’re wondering now if maybe the scar didn’t take out a few hair follicles with it. It’s still a bit too early to tell. He’s only 14 months so lots of groovy little hair and skin cells changing still. We’ll see.
Nathalie :: 19 July 07 :: #
Poor Elyas. Soory to read what happened to him: life is not easy.
See you soon, I hope.
What about your holidays in Marocco?
Nathalie.
isabelle :: 28 July 07 :: #
Good luck for the emotional healing …. when it’s one’s children , it’s hard to see them go throught little “accidents” ...
Hope you have a pleasant holiday nonetheless ….
Isabelle.
Destry :: 28 July 07 :: #
Thanks, sistas.
All is good. We still wince a bit, particularly looking at the scar (it’s a big one), but that’s life, and he’s okay.
I’m trying to find the time for more writing. It will come.