Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Scabs, Band-aids, and Hair Loss

My children are bent on self-mutilation.

Gabe has gouged both of his big toes running around outside with no shoes on. You may be thinking, "Why doesn't she just make him wear shoes?" I'll tell you.

My children have inherited my intense dislike for wearing shoes. As a child, my hatred of footware of any kind ran hot, (much like the intensity of a thousand suns) and frequently ended in teachers, babysitters, busy-bodied church ladies telling me of the many dire things that would happen if I did not put on said footwear posthaste! And yes, I did my share of foot damage including stepping on glass and jumping on a rusty nail. And it was no big deal. Feet are hardy creatures. I only wear shoes when I am truly forced, to this very day. Feet need to be allowed to breathe and be one with the universe in my opinion.

In contrast, I have a friend who abhors bare feet. I have seen him stocking-footed exactly once in my life. He was my boyfriend's roommate, and my roommate's boyfriend (at the same time) and has been a friend for over 15 years. I have stayed over at his house and had him at my house as a guest countless times. I have seen him first thing in the morning, late into the night and passed out drunk, and in all kinds of weather including the inferno that is Wisconsin in August, but he is always always wearing socks and steel-toed combat boots. He has NEVER gouged the hell out of his big toes. At least his baby gets to go barefoot. In the summer. Inside the house.

So, Gabe has ugly nasty flaps of skin hanging off his toes. Which seem to require about 13 band-aids daily.

Quin somehow bashed her face up. I don't know how or when this injury occurred, but she now has scabs all across her nose. She never even came crying to me with this injury, which I find almost unbelievable, since I usually hear The Cry Of Unimaginable Agony following her brother looking at her just so or The Pterydactyle Shrieks Of Suffering following her brother pointing his fingers at her!

Ribh has been scraping and scratching her face with the intensity of a creature with no fine motor skills and too long fingernails and poison ivy or somesuch itchy nasties. Mayhaps I should cut her nails again? But I usually, very organically, bite them off and this truly pisses her off. I imagine the clippers would enrage her as well and she doesn't seem to mind the scratches across her entire visage. Yes, yes, I know; Bad Granola Mama.

Her rooting reflex doesn't seem to have slowed down. Whenever she is sleepy she thrashes her head back and forth repeatedly in search for the elusive phantom nipple. She does this even when asleep with her head pillowed against my bare breast. She is a future headbanger or something. All this thrashing has served to wear a pathway of baldness all along the back of her head, looking for all the world like a tiny comb-over gone wrong (aren't they all wrong?) on my perfect and fashionable baby.

Oh the mutilation!

And just 5 days until my husband moves out of state. Grump!

2 comments:

Mar said...

with all those things happening continuously over the past 5 years, Ribh's hair loss only pales in comparison to Papa's.

Lauri said...

I'll just start by saying, "You Rock!" For some reason your posts really get to me and let me live in your world for a few minutes at a time. I guess its probably jealousy...I want to be married with kids SOOOO badly...but really, you seem like such a cool "chick" (I won't say "lady" so you don't feel old like when you found out about the nose rings at Walmart). I'm just a weirdo who cares about people, so take my praise with a grain of salt (does eating something good with salt make it taste bad or even neutral? I don't quite get that saying...) Anyway, keep on blogging and thanks for making my days a little brighter...Greg