POW! Right in the kisser!!

A couple mornings ago while trying to get the resident Drama Queen (this would be Boo Bug) into her clothes, which were STINKY BAD AWFUL WHO WOULD BE CAUGHT DEAD IN THESE?! (with associated ‘I want to wear the pants Danger Mouse has on right now’ theatrics), we had an unfortunate meeting of her face with my knee.

NO. Not on purpose! I was pondering maybe a nice gentle backhand into the wall for being such a pill, but she saved me the trouble. I was trying to wrestle her into a turtleneck and she was fighting me like an octopus on PCP and just when I was expecting her to pull back away from me, she suddenly went spaghetti-legged forward just as I was pulling on the shirt trying to get it over her head and POW! Right in the kisser!!

Blood, screaming, carrying on, cold wet washcloths and cuddling, having to change out of the STINKY BAD AWFUL WHO WOULD BE CAUGHT DEAD IN THESE?! (with associated ‘I want to wear the pants Danger Mouse has on right now’ theatrics) clothes into EVEN WORSE IF YOU CAN IMAGINE THAT! ones due to watery-blood-spit.

Just. Shoot. Me. The guilt alone is unbearable. It doesn’t matter that it was an accident. It was my knee hitting her face and I felt positively evil.

At the time, I looked at it very carefully and said, “Ouch, but OK.” It looked like she had a small cut in her gums that would probably develop into some harmless swelling later. Harmless, but painful. (Guilt-guilt-guilt-guilt-guilt-guilt.)

But last night, I was looking at her little mouth and feeling…uneasy. Is this just a normal ‘I got a bruise on my gum and now its swelling’ swelling, or is this ‘my mother’s knee is so incredibly bony that I shattered the roots of my little tooth and will now require the services of an oral surgeon who will traumatize me so thoroughly that I will never voluntarily go to a dentist again and also charge more than the cost of two new minivans’? (Not that I have the cost of a new minivan on the brain right now or anything.)

Soooooooooooooo…this morning I called her dentist and made an appointment. I knocked off work at 12:00 to go pick her up and take her to the dentist.

She is fine, thank you. My first assessment was spot on: She has a nasty bruise, but no actual lasting damage. She is now delighting in showing everybody her ‘bahwooze’ and telling them my knee did it.

Isn’t that great?
“Oh goodness, little precious, however did that happen?”
“Mommy’s KNEE hit my FACE!!!”

…and then they look at me.

…and I attempt to look like something other than a monster who drives knees into precious little angelic-girl faces.

Which reminds me.

My knee?

OW!!! GEEZ! OY!!! Dang, but that kid has a hard head!

See, I can say that now, because she’s OK. Before, I couldn’t say anything because it was like…I don’t know…heartless or something…“Gee, it really hurt my kneecap when I broke my child’s face with it.”

Yeah.

That’ll leave a mark.