Responsibilities and head wounds (again)!

All I want to do today is sit and eat chocolate. It's nothing to do with the fact that there's no food in the house (husband's away and standards are beginning to slip), but I just need a quick fix. So this is the thing - I'm feeling a bit teary today, as I was yesterday, ever since Edie fell off the back of the sofa, cracked her head on the corner of the radiator and needed a trip to A&E to be stuck back together again.

Strangely enough it's Renée who's been hurting herself recently - I was even tempted to write a post on clumsy children and how to cope with them (although seeing as I haven't yet worked out how to cope with them it would have been a little premature). First there was the chin split open on the step, then I received a phone call from school telling me she had fallen over in the playground, cut her face quite badly and was pretty shaken up, which was followed the very next day by another bump in the playground (teacher had tripped her up apparently?!) and then two days later yet another fall and a badly cut knee. Not only was I beginning to despair, but I was also starting to question why it was Renée and not Edie who was having all the accidents. Anyone who is familiar with my two children knows that Renée is the agile, sure-footed one, whilst little pudding Edie will go out of her way to find the one stone on an otherwise flat piece of ground, in order to trip over. Sometimes she looks as though she has only just learnt to walk.

But yesterday, much to my dismay, it was Edie's turn in the spotlight (had she been jealous of all the attention Renée was receiving)? Hmmm. That's a thought. So this is what happened...

A fun-filled Bank-holiday Monday was being spent bouncing on the sofa. We had planned an excursion to the church fete for later in the day, but at this point in time we were all still in our pyjamas.

"Edie, please don't bounce on the sofa."

Edie's particular brand of very selective hearing decided she could not hear me.

"Edie, come down from there please. You're going to fall and hurt yourself."

She still couldn't hear me (we were in the same room).

"Edie, this is the last time I'm going to ask you to get down before I have to come over and..."

BANG.

A particularly big bounce propelled her over the back of the sofa right onto the corner of the radiator (I later discovered).

Tears. Lots of them. And blood. Lots of it.

But this is the thing. The corner of her mouth was bleeding so I thought she'd bitten her lip and that it wasn't serious. So I carried her upstairs and laid her on my bed to give her a cuddle. But when I took my hand away it was wet and sticky and ever-so red.

"Hmmm. That's more than just a cut lip. I wonder where that's coming from?" I thought.

And that's when I saw that the whole of my pillow and duvet cover and Edie's pyjamas were bright crimson in colour. Closer inspection revealed that the back of her head, under her hair, looked like it had been sliced open.

Now I'm not normally queasy at the sight of blood, but I began to feel strangely shaky and in need of a lie-down. But with husband away again (I'm not even going to ask why this always happens when I'm on my own), I had to be the strong one. So, another dash to A&E with two small children which seemed strangely surreal since I had made exactly the same journey only a month ago. The car park miraculously hadn't moved and was still about 500 miles away. Fortunately I hadn't dressed us all in full outdoor gear this time and as a result the red-faced sweating mad woman appeared only as a toned-down version.

Luckily they managed to stick her back together with the same magic glue that had worked wonders on Renée's chin. And now all is well with the world. Except it isn't. I feel like I've fallen off a horse, but haven't managed to get back on again. I'm still shaky and given half a chance I'd probably burst into tears as well, but I've got to pick Renée up from school and have to hold it together.

But this is the thing. I feel overwhelmed by the responsibility of being a parent. My two little sausages - who look up to me and rely solely on me for love and care and attention and food and nurturing and protection and all the other things a parent is supposed to do - are merely mortal. Today I want to wrap them in cotton wool and never let them out of my sight, but I can't imagine that would be much fun for any of us. I'm sure I'll be fine by tomorrow - as will they. But in the meantime, I think I might just have to search for that secret supply of chocolate...if only to make myself feel better!