Wringing of Hands


Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new

Whose names you meditate –
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,

Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical

Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.

Sylvia Plath

This post was supposed to be about me climbing sheepishly down off my horse named Melodrama, and telling you that, really, peeps, I’m fine; I just go a little peculiar in the head when I see blood pouring out of my baby.

Of course, that was before he ran across the drive after his Grandad this evening, and fell chin-first onto the tarmac. I’m beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable – and weary – of taking photos of a bloody child with an injured mouth, so I took a couple of myself instead. Harry mainly wanted his Daddy’s shoulder – black-clad this time – to cry/bleed it all out on today, but he stuck with me long enough to make his point.


Ann 2

I’m not an avid photographer-of-self. 15 stone will, you know, occasionally do that to a girl. But these… appeal to me. I have never yet (except poooooossibly the In-Laws-With-Bride group shot at our wedding, by which stage I was getting cold & mizzled on) seen my expression tell a glummer story.

Immediately prior to taking these woeful photos, I endured a 3-hour dinner with my parents. Normally a complete joy to entertain, they omitted to inform me, when I issued the invitation yesterday, that they were not, in fact, speaking to one another. I have a policy of non-socialisation when this occurs, as it upsets me. Today, even John – not the most sensitive human example of emotional litmus – managed to pick up the frosty undertone and the pot-shots. I was just beginning to cheer up as they opened the front door to go, when I saw Harry take his tumble.

An inevitable combination of the 4 deadly Ss – Speed, unSteadiness, Sandals and the Slope sent him smack onto his chin. For some absurd reason, I was supremely confident for a second or two that he couldn’t possibly have bust his lip again, as no-one can possibly sink their top teeth nearly right through their bottom lip 3 times in 5 days. Surely not! The fates are not that unkind to already-mangled and swollen flesh.

They fucking are, you know.


13 Responses

  1. Oh, poor kid. Glad you’re feeling better, though. Been worried about you! Bless him, he needs a non-active toy, or several days in a bouncy house just to let him heal!

  2. Dear God! Hang in there all. Only can get better?!?!?!


  3. Oh My God! I think it’s time to strap that boy in a stroller for a few days – to give him a chance to heal. Unreal. Or maybe a helmet?

    I’m not sure what you think your expression says, but to me, you look supremely pissed off at the fates who keep picking on poor Harry.

  4. I am so damn sorry that this keeps happening. My heart wrenches at each of those photos, both yours and Harry’s and if I feel like that, I can only imagine how awful you feel. I am hoping and praying that he is just getting all of the fat lips he was supposed to have over the next ten years over at once.
    Sending love to both of you.

  5. Oh my dear, oh my dearie-dear.

  6. I thought ‘is that a flower pattern on her shoulder’ and then I twigged. I’m sorry.

  7. Argggggh!

  8. Threes, they always come in threes. My mum, superstitious old biddy, always broke a match after number two – well, you don’t know it’s a sequence until then I guess – to ward off the evil number three. Poor wee Harry Boy, so sorry for the oral damage. If it’s any consolation, I’m still carrying a scar, done when I was Harry’s age, that involved using all available top teeth to bite through the skin below my lip, Leaving my two hard-won top teeth embedded in the mayhem at the same time.

    My mother and granny popped the teeth back in and, what do you know, they stayed there.
    And it hasn’t affected my good looks at all. And I get to write in the box on my passport application marked Visible Scars and Other Identifying Marks. Bonus! But really, it’s pretty much invisible to anyone else.

    Not sure what to suggest for the Accident Prone One – he’s far too little for a mouthguard, but that is absolutely what he needs to protect his poor little mouth from any further face plants.

  9. I want to kick someone really hard for you. This. is. not. FAIR. I’m so sorry. I wish this wasn’t happening to your poor sweet little man.


  10. The only word I want to say repeatedly is “Poor”. As in “Poor you.” “Poor beautiful Harry.” “Poor beautiful you.”

    Poor poor poor poor poor. To the nth degree, each one very, very heartfelt.

    I’m so sorry, babe. I will happily beat someone up if it means that Harry never trips and falls again. Just say the word.

  11. I too was prone to THE FALL, as we called it in my house, related to the loose ligaments caused by EDS and even as a six year old I remember those frequent falls over the “imaginary log”. No fun at all.
    Other than wrapping him in bubble wrap or forbidding him to walk, (I use to trip over nothing, if a ligament would slip), what ever the cause, it may be rough until he learns to throw his hands up when he falls. I eventually did and he will too, and life will get much better.
    Much love to you, I know that you are incredibly strong, I just wish we could come over there and whip the system into shape so Harry could get all those services you want for him now. We Americans are so impatient when it comes to that sort of thing, we start waving money around and yelling and making phone calls and it is all very undignified, but it unusually works.
    And I feel your pain with the parental dinner party, ouch. My parents spent the last 10 years of married life not speaking to each other at the dinner table, it was a joyful experience, to say the least, and of course, we ate together as a family every single night, because it was important!

  12. I would like to send some bubble wrap for lower half of Harry’s poor face. Or maybe a big plastic bubble. Just until he heals up and that poor lip is less of a target. I cannot imagine going through what you are going through, quite literally sandwiched between generations of hurt and tension. I sincerely hope that the fates find it in their shriveled-up little hearts to cut you a damn break already.

  13. Oh lordy. Poor Harry. And poor you. I wonder if the swelling itself is contributing to the re-injury, in that each time he falls there’s already something puffy inside his lower lip for the teeth to damage…as when one chomps the inside of a cheek when eating, then keeps re-chomping it dozens of annoying times.

    This WILL get better. And somebody up there better cut him a break, or we’ll all open a can of whup-ass.

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