Yesterday something almost bad happened. I had set my little man on the potty and I was pulling out the vacuum from the storage closet in the bathroom, and guess what- his little fingers got caught in the closet door. I didn't shut the closet all of the way, I noticed about half way that the door wasn't closing correctly. Then I heard this wail- WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. His little fingers were stuck in the closet door. Automatically I started a code red freak out. "Oh my God! Oh my God! I'm so sorry! Are you OK (shaking him in my arms)? Are you okay", I was then crying harder than he was. I took a look at his sweet little hand, and it had the impression of the door jam stuck in it. WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. "It's okay little man, let me see your little hand" I wailed even harder. I flipped over and checked it out. He had a little tiny cut on the inside of his finger.
I ran into the kitchen and pulled out the 10 lb bag of ice cubes that had half way solidified into a solid block. " Come on ice!", I said as I began banging the bag as hard as I could on the counter, "Come on!"
I ran to him still sitting on the potty crying and gave him a ziplock bag of ice.
All I could think about is how I broke the sweet little fingers on his hand, and how he was going to grow up with developemental problems in his poor little right hand. I scooped him up, tossed off the old faithfull sweatpants and threw on some jeans." It's okay baby its ok!" At this point I was obviously crying harder than he was.
I was getting our coats on so that we could take a trip to the local urgent care. I asked him if he could bend his fingers, and he could. I put his coat on and grab a old bleach rag out of the linen closet so that I could wrap the ice around his hand. I rushed us out in the car.
I called my husband to tell him what had just happened. Sobbing on the phone, " Hubby, (my crying) I caught his sweet little hand in the door. I don't think its broken, oh wahhhhhh.." After I hung up the phone and was rushing away to the urgent care, Little Man says to me, "Mama, please stop crying. It's ok. I'm ok Mama." He had stopped crying and was I obviously more upset at this point than he was. I rushed him in urgent care and they got us right in and took x-ray of his little hand.
The doctor came in right away and read the x-ray. He was fine. At this point when I looked down at his hand and it didn't even look like it had been injured at all. Dr. Patel looks at me and says, " I think Mama has more pain that the little one does." I did have more pain. I had cause pain to my sweetest little angel.
I had just moved to this city about 6 months ago, and there are a little bit of cultural difference. I had lived in a city the Capital City, where it was a much slower way of life, and people just liked to sit down and be friendly and talk to stranger. This city of live in now is a strict upper middle class/ upper class society, where the sense of humor is quite different, to say the least.
When the nurse lead me back to the doctors examination room, I had told her what happened, and added a bit of my own Midwest dark sense of humor, " I know Mama just beat you up, huh." The nurse looked at me and got real serious. For a moment I was terrified. "No, I'm just joking. I have a really bad sense of humor." She smiled this weak smile back at me. Now, I know that joking about beating your kids is really taboo, but if I were in the Capital City they would have thought that was hilarious. I guess now I can add that to my list of things that are taboo when you live in upper middle class suburbia.
It was really difficult moving here last summer. It was a culture shock. I had moved from an area that was racial heterogeneous, and I really loved it that way. My son got to live with people of all ethnicity and lifestyles. I thought it was a wonderful way to live. People were friendly. Sure, you might have to wait a little bit longer in line at the market, but when it was your turn you also got to have that five minute conversation with the cashier. Maybe that is what made everything so wonderful there. Capital City was really like Martin Luther King Jr.'s dream. I had become completely color blind living there for almost ten years. I had also become accepting of every kind of lifestyle, because people in the Capital City did not live in fear, but were proud of the way the chose to live there life.
This town is completely different. It is almost as if there is a dress code. There isn't any diversity here. It is just a white landscape. Truthfully, when I see people of other ethnicity here in White Suburbia, I am so happy. Also, all these white dudes really like to wear plaid and wear mohawks. I don't understand. I guess that I just have to give this new culture some more time.
Yesterday before closet-gate, Little Man strung a whole string of little beads all by himself. I was so proud that he had the patience and that his fine motor control was so great. I was so happy. I didn't want to help him, because I wanted the necklace to be all of him.
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