the not-so-good firsts

Oh, I was a bad mommy today. And I reached a milestone no parent wants to reach. I hurt my child today.

It all started when we were playing in the master bedroom. I went to go to the bathroom, and Britton decided to seek me out in the "water closet." She started tearing off the toilet paper, dragging it behind her. I quickly finished up and went to stop the now-lengthening trail of paper. She turned next to the door as I was rolling it back up, and I instinctively went to shut the door, in an effort to hide the toilet paper and toilet water and other goodies Britton likes to include in her mess-making and debauchery.

Only I didn't know her hand was between the door and the door frame. I didn't get it shut all the way, but I distinctly remember the resistance the door gave in shutting. And when she looked up at me, huge eyes filling with tears, it hit me what that resistance was. I grabbed her in my arms, wishing that the tight bear hug would make it all better. And I thought it so odd that she accepted my comfort, since I was the one who had caused her the pain in the first place. I yelled for the hub, gave him a quick recount of the story, and sent him for ice that Britton refused. She was fine, no cuts or broken fingers or bruises, but I could not get past that I had been the one to hurt her, even if it wasn't intentional.

See, when I was a kid, maybe around eight years old or so, my sister and I were playing with this boy Dennis. We were all chasing each other through the house and Jessica and I made it to my room at the end of the hall, moments before Dennis could. I slammed my door shut to keep him out, to "win." Only I didn't know at the time that he was closer than that, and that his hand was in the doorjam. Later I would learn that he had to have the fingernail, or was it more than one?, removed and some therapy. I remember being told, but by whom I don't know, that the doctor had to put needles through where the fingernail would be in an effort to fix the damage I had caused.

So one can see that my emotional reaction to hurting Britton in a similar, albeit less serious, way would be skewed. Of course, after some cuddling and juice, Britton was fine. That is, until five minutes later when she dropped her sippy cup on her foot. It will always be something, I know that. But I just didn't think it would be me.