My darling monkey, climber of reckless, jumper of daring.
She clambered up the back of her high chair, purposed to dive headlong into the seat. I watched hockey, attending the flying bodies and brutal hits and players getting to their feet with blood streaming from their foreheads and waving off trainers. “I’m fine,” I can see them mutter before getting ten stitches and returning to the game.
Her foot lost its footing on a foothold, and down tumbling she came, tiny butt cushioning her collapse, lollipop head snapping backward to ring off the glass door leading out to the patio.
It was a dull ring, a low tone, but louder than the cheers and whistles and slapshot sounds coming from the television. I turned my head to examine her predicament with every corner of my eyes.
Face scrunched. Certain that crying was warranted. “Dat scare you?” she asked.
“Did that scare you?” I repeated, clarifying.
“Yeah,” came her breaking reply. Taking my comprehension as confirmation, she let the tears come. “Are you cwying?”
Often, usually, her hurts are scripted: Did that scare you? Are you okay? Are you sad? Are you crying? Let me see. You’re okay. Dust yourself off. Let me kiss it. You’re okay. You’re okay.
This time I watched her tear up and I did not offer to examine her gaping wound.
She stared into all the corners of my eyes, replacing conviction with hesitation. Then she turned into a hockey player.
“I want TRY AGAIN!”
6 comments:
Would you say she has more or less teeth than the average hockey player at this stage?
Good girl. Upwards and onwards. Or in this case, upwards and upwards.
poor sweets. Glad she wanted to try again though. Good fighting spirit!
Way to go kid, dust it off and get back on the horse.
Dad, you may have to keep a close eye on this fearless one as she gets older. Sounds like tall trees are in her future.
Woo hoo! Abby pouted when the Caps game ended and they put on Horse Racing on Saturday. It was priceless.
Looks like you have the female version of the BunkerMonkey 2.0 model. Lucky you - I foresee lots of trips to the emergency room in your future, but also trips to the hockey game. Tears when she (inevitably) slips and cracks her head on the door, but also lots of grins when she finally climbs that big tree in the yard.
Translation: You are well and royally fucked. Just keep her away from those big red cement balls in front of Target (oh you don't want to know).
Post a Comment