Growing Pains

As much as I enjoy my walking, spinning, talking, squawking, laughing, learning toddler, I find myself yearning for the former days of her infanthood. Yes, breastfeeding was easier than formulating three square meals a day, but that's not my reason. I can't help but wish she could still be a helpless newborn every time she gets hurt. It breaks my heart.

Seeing Evelyn fall down, register the pain and howl in misery makes me wish I feel the pain for her. I hate knowing these are just the first few in a long line of boo-boos.

My daughter somehow manages to get hurt every single day. Whether it's a bump on the coffee table, a tumble on the ground or a pinched finger, I never go a day without clutching her in my arms and whispering, "It's okay, I've got you sweetheart. Mommy's so sorry you got hurt."

Recently, Evelyn has decided that she's invincible. She will grab my purse or a shopping bag and spin around our living room as fast as she can until she inevitably tumbles. Then she gets up and does it again. And again. Meanwhile, I stand in the background, hands clutched in front of my chest praying she doesn't get hurt.


Now that she can walk with no problem, Evie is eager to explore new places and movements. Every afternoon, she marches up to the front door and casually knocks as if to say, "Excuse me, anyone out there? Can you please take me for a walk? Pleeeease?!"

Once we hit the sidewalk, she becomes invincible yet again. She ignores the cars passing by and pauses to stare at ants, even if we're blocking a driveway. Luckily for my sanity, she's gotten pretty good at holding my hand the whole time.

Just this evening, Evelyn was strolling around the room, sleepy-eyed and dragging her blanket, when she abruptly tripped over the blanket, crashed into her play table and toppled onto a plastic toy bin. Immediately, a dark purple spot made itself known on her jaw. I held her so tight I thought my body might absorb her. We stayed that way with her new "Boo Boo Buddy" (thanks, Mom) pressed up to her face until the tears subsided.

I know toddlers are magnets for bumps, bruises and scrapes, but why can't my daughter be exempt? I can only hope that as she grows and learns from her experiences that the emotional pain won't be so taxing on me. I'm waiting for the day when I can see a wound on my child and think nothing other than, 'Where did I leave the neosporin?' 

Can you find the baby?