It all started with a bump to Audrey's head on Tuesday night. I was sitting on the floor right beside her, and she hit her forehead, hard, on the cedar chest. I felt so guilty about it, especially when I saw the knot that rose up almost immediately. I know I shouldn't feel guilty, but it's so hard not to. I know there's going to be lots of times that she's going to hit her head, especially when she starts walking, but I always think, "I should have prevented that."
She screamed and screamed, which is unusual. Since she started pulling up recently, we've said "Oopsie!" every time she falls, and she usually just smiles. I know the parents' reaction affects the way the baby handles it, so we try to remain calm.
We checked the dilation of her pupils, which I insist on doing every time she has a hard hit to the head. Yes, I'm paranoid. My dad had several brain aneurysms in his lifetime, and I'm all too aware of how brain injuries work.
The worst part was, it was almost bedtime. That means we couldn't really check on her, watch her behavior, to see how she was. Matt did her usual nighttime routine, but she still wouldn't go to sleep. She just screamed. Which is highly unusual, especially since we successfully completed sleep training a few months ago.
It turns out she was fine, but we got her up anyway; I wanted to check her pupils again. I know, the OCD was rearing its ugly head. I had her in my arms, screaming, and I practically ran to the bedroom to get the flashlight. Wham! Hit the front of my shins on the ottoman.
Matt and I are trying to watch our language now, since we don't want little Audrey to start cursing while she's at, say, the church nursery on Sunday. But I was in so much pain that I let several terribly unflattering words fly from my mouth.
Last night, I am not exaggerating when I say I could hardly walk, and I have two big bruises on my shins. And it irritates me to no end. Because ever since I was diagnosed with FMS, I've become clumsy. I knock things over, drop things, fall and hit my head...the list is endless. Part of FMS has to do with loss of muscle control. When it was really bad, I could be standing there in the kitchen, holding a glass, and I would just drop it. With no idea how it happened. Poor Matt has had to clean up so many spills in the last few years, bless his heart, usually with me crying and saying, "I'm so sorry!"
I feel like such an idiot. As a child, I was not uncoordinated. I played church basketball and softball, and I probably would have played high school softball if I hadn't worked so much. So this loss of muscle control is tough.
At least it's gotten better in the last few months. Even though you'd never know it by looking at my shins.