– or, why my wall looks like a toddler Shroud of Turin

I am extremely hopeful that my child has a higher-than-normal IQ.  Besides the obvious reasons, I am hopeful for this because of one important fact: my child is undoubtedly smacking IQ points out of her head on a daily basis.

It began a few months ago.  She started walking on her first birthday, and initially had been doing rather well at avoiding large, obvious obstacles – like walls.  But lately, my 22-month-old has been careening into any available surface, piece of furniture, or adult within toddling distance.  It seems that we can’t go a day without her incurring yet another mild to moderate head injury.  I try to be a good mother and not roll my eyes every time I hear *BANG!*  “WAAAAAH!!!”  I just sigh, mumble “chalk another one up for Henrietta Head Wound” and go survey the damage.  If she makes it to first grade without poking out an eye, I’ll count it as a successful toddlerhood.

I was not always jaded about this, mind you.  The first real time my daughter hurt herself, I freaked out.  It was around 20 months.  She was in the kitchen, tripped over her new, hard shoes, and hit the corner of the wall with her cute little face.  I heard the dreaded BANG!-pause, and waited for the inhalation and subsequent wailing.  To my horror, though, I saw that a huge egg had immediately surfaced on her forehead, and was already turning a non-forehead color.  And she was screaming.  And I freaked.

I grabbed a bag of frozen raspberries and tried to place it on her burgeoning unicorn horn, to no avail.  She wasn’t having it.  She kept screaming, and I kept muttering “Oh my God, oh my God” like Rainman.  I decided to take her to the hospital, because I’m a new-ish mom and am still learning to discern between everyday wear-and-tear and actual emergencies – as was politely pointed out to me at the ER.  The doctor took a cursory look at her injury, stated “it didn’t break the skin; she’s fine”, and left without another word.  The baby was indeed fine, but Mommy could have definitely used a Valium.

That injury, I could understand.  New shoes, stumbling.  But other times, it’s inexplicable.  Once, I was standing in the kitchen and she was coming to me, and just veered off sideways into the cabinets.  I mean, what the heck was that?  And walking into walls?  That’s just baffling to me.  It’s not like she’s looking in another direction; we’re talking, walking directly into the wall, face on.  Maybe she’s testing her solidity.

My little brother was famous for head injuries, too.  As a toddler, he was constantly getting into the pots and pans and banging himself in the head with them.  And those were the days of no Photoshop – our family album would give DCF pause. 

I’m not saying I’m the most graceful person in the world, either.  Clearly, she could have received the ‘klutz’ gene from me.  My favorite smooth move is falling *up* the stairs.  And this is after years of being a trained dancer.  Maybe I should wear ballet shoes around the house.

As for my sweet little headbanger, all I can do is try not to overreact when she leaves her faceprint on yet another wall, and practice the fine art of distraction when she falls off the couch.  “Touchdown!” I will yell enthusiastically, until her pending tears get waylaid with a smile of confused achievement.  I don’t want a child that’s afraid to take risks, or be easily moved to tears by every bump and bruise.  But I will also strive to not make her feel like she needs to “suck it up” if she’s truly hurt.  It’s a fine line, but I’ll learn to walk it – and hopefully, I won’t walk into any walls along the way.

Next time: Saturday Night Fever