Bug is always covered in bruises. Bruises and cuts. Bruises, cuts and bumps. My only job is to make sure that Bug's okay. Each day I spend a few minutes telling myself that today's the day Bug goes bump free. By the time I'm convinced she's already walked into a radiator, fell off the sofa, and on really bad days, been on fire.
With each bump comes layer after layer of guilt. It's like confession when Bear gets back from work:
BEAR: Did you guys have a nice...
ME: She walked into the climbing frame and her legs fell off! Don't judge me! Don't judge me!
Every time there's a knock at the door -- maybe twice a year, we're not popular -- I expect it to be the child protection services. This isn't helped by my attempts at humour. For example, at our Monday morning play group Bug ran head first into a little girl. Another bump on top of a bump.
The little girl's Mum said "they always get bumps, don't they?"
"Especially Bug," I replied. "She's often falling downstairs." I paused. "Apparently!"
"But... but that's awful!" said the shocked woman and walked off.
If I'm not comparing myself favourable to Josef Fritzl then I'm telling a complete stranger that we physically abuse Bug and blame it on 'a fall down stairs.' I had to explain this to Bear when she got home from work. She didn't laugh.
What amazes me is how calm Bug is when she tumbles. Unless she's in lots of pain, or really sleepy, then she'll pick herself off the floor and get on with important Bug things like teaching the cat about hugs. Most of her falls come under two categories:
1: The Austen
She makes a noise like a fainting girl from a Austen adaptation. Her arms will fly up, her dress will billow and she'll make a 'hoooh' noise.
2: Vic and Bob
Other falls remind me of Vic and Bob. She'll come walking towards me, giggle, and fall on her bum. 'Ooooh Dad, I've fallen!'
Often it's a combination of the two. She's multi-talented.
Bye for now.