Photo Friday: Injurious Bastard.
This Photo Friday goes out to Perpetua, whose own daredevil took a recent bed-to-floor topple.
Hank is surprisingly coordinated for such a big guy. But there is a reason why his father calls him alternately “Toppleganger” and “Crumplestiltskin.” And why we daily add to the list of victims (animate or inanimate) of Hank Smash.
(Um, if you haven’t guessed the reason: He falls down a lot.)
The infamous fall from the bed when he was four and a half months seems like nothing to me now, though of course at the time I was frantic. These days Hank has a near constant shiner. And as soon as people stop eyeing me suspiciously and asking roundabout questions about it, it switches eyes. I just uploaded photos from our digital camera to iPhoto and noticed that the only photos I’d taken in the last few weeks were to document H’s bruises.
Exhibit A: A Few Shots of the Goose-Egg
Notice, also, The Scratch, which decorates The Goose-Egg.
While The Goose-Egg is your typical fall-from-the-changing-table marker, The Scratch, which ups the ante a bit, stems from the fact that our “changing table” is restaurant-grade METAL SHELVING.
The Scratch did give him a particularly Karloffian edge, to be honest.
That’s right–he fell off the changing table. I had a hand on him, but he ninja-moved out from under it and hurled himself off, falling (of course) and smacking forehead-first on the hardwood floor. On the way down he scratched his forehead on a basket (also metal!).
And it didn’t help that it was 4 in the morning, this being during the week together when that was his decided-upon wake-up time, he had already been up multiple times that night, I was bleary eyed and completely demoralized, and his crashing fantastically didn’t help matters one bit. I ended up shouting upstairs to Baby Daddy, who came down to find me sobbing while nursing what seemed to be a completely fine baby, except, of course, for the massive bruise and unsightly scratch. BD took over, and I went and cried into my pillow and took a sweaty fretful “nap” (seems weird to call 4-5 am a nap, but that’s what it was in those days). When I came down an hour later Hank was standing up as usual holding on to his favorite ottoman. He looked at me as I came down the stairs, broke out into a giant drooly grin which certainly softened the still somewhat shocking discoloration of his forehead, and chirped: “Mama!” (this being the first time he had ever said it, the first time he’d ever made any M sound, or any consonant-a sound, actually. baba and puhpuh followed in the next week).
So, if you want to jump-start your kid’s language skills–just drop her on her head!
Then a week or so later, another in a string of never ending black eyes. This particular black eye was achieved by a mid-furniture-cruising fall while holding the remote control, which hit the ground first, but, still in his hand, stood vertical on its end, so that his face went right into the other end of the remote before he and it became crashed to horizontal on the floor.
None of the pictures I have of him (most of him being held by nice older women at his grandmother’s retirement party) quite capture how noticeable the black eye was/is. It’s been over a week and this particular shiner is still holding on.
It’s been joined by a cheekbone bruise that makes it look even more likely that he’s been slapped, and a nice big scrape on the opposite cheek he got today at child care when he decided to attempt to follow his caregiver’s son up the steps. From standing next to them. Forgetting he can’t, you know, walk.