My mom tells a story of me as a young toddler (maybe 18 months) running to her and begging her to "kiss my butt, Mommy". As mouthy as I was growing up (and still am, who am I kidding?), it did not begin this early. Apparently I had fallen quite hard on my tush and required immediate medical relief. Enter mom's kiss. (Thank you, Mom, for humoring me in my hour of need.) Pain was vanquished and all was again right in the world.
Flash forward 25 years or so. Now I'm the mom. Now my kiss can soothe any injury.
Or can it?
When my oldest son was just under a year old I had my first real experience with the helplessness a mom can truly feel. Since the early years of our marriage my husband and I have owned a travel trailer and enjoy camping in our state parks. The year D was born we upgraded to a slightly larger model to accommodate the requisite Pack-and-Play and the other child(ren) we were planning to have.
We were camping with our best friends, Joe, who is a nurse and Kris, who is a teacher. My husband and Joe decided to go golfing. I was tidying up the RV before venturing out with Kris and D. I was at the sink, next to the trailer door, washing the dishes. It was a beautiful summer morning so the the outer door was left open but the screen door was shut. D crawled up to the door and proceeded to stand up against the screen door.
My heart stopped because I knew what was going to happen. I also knew, that even though I was but one step away, I wasn't going to make it in time.
D's body weight was too much for the screen door latch and out the door he tumbled.
I arrived at the door in time to watch my son roll down the metal steps, off the concrete pad and onto the grass of our campsite.
I now know what my primal scream sounds like and frankly, I NEVER want to hear it again.
I hold my breath and wait for him to move or make a sound. Is he dead? Is his neck broken? Is he bleeding?
The wails begin.
I was never happier to hear that sound.
Then he begins to move.
Thank God, no broken neck.
I spring into action, scooping him into my arms and doing the only thing I can think of - I kiss him.
I grab my cell phone and hope to God that my husband's also has reception.
"Hello?"
"D-D-D-D just f-f-f-fell out of the t-t-t-trailer!"
"What?!?"
"D-D-D-D just f-f-f-fell out of the t-t-t-trailer!"
"We'll be right there."
I rock and kiss my child while crying hysterically. After what seems like a year (and in actuality was probably only a minute and a half) my husband and Joe arrive.
I'm sitting on the bed, still hysterical while D is content in my lap.
Joe gives D the once over, ensuring that D's pupils are functioning properly before he and my husband begin laughing at me.
Thankfully the event had more of an impact on me than on my son. It also had an impact on our trailer in the form of a shiny new gate.
And I wondered "what if?"
What if it had been worse? What if he had landed differently? What if it had been more than my kiss could handle?
This week I had another brush with my fallibility as a mother.
I took the kids to a play date with a couple of the other moms from D's preschool. We decided to try something new and met at a different playground than usual. There were more swings for the kids and new equipment to climb on.
D decides he wants to drive the "jeep" - a metal framework painted red that slightly resembles a Wrangler. I'm relegated to the backseat while one of the other moms gets to ride shotgun. G is toddling around right next to us.
Then I see it.
A yellow insect flying around my baby's face.
Those of you that know me, know that I have an inordinate fear of bees, wasps, yellow jackets, etc. This did not matter. It was flying around MY baby and it was going to be ON like Donkey-Kong. IF I could get there in time.
Before I can hop over the bar to rescue my progeny from the hymenopteran (thanks, Filecia!), G moves his head just right. He begins to cry.
My heart stops.
My brother is allergic to bee stings and when I was about 3 I was stung by some type of insect and became violently ill. In need of epinephrine ill. Can still remember the sensation of my insides feeling like they were climbing the walls ill. See where the fear comes from?
I swoop in to investigate the damage.
Thank God the other moms were there for support.
I see no stinger, but there is a tiny, rosy spec that looks like the size of a hypodermic needle injection site. I assume this is ground zero.
I cradle and kiss G while trying to keep my cool. If something bad is going to happen, it will most likely happen in the next 20 minutes or so. I apply a cold soda can to the offended area for as long as G will let me (about 2.4 seconds, unfortunately). Then I give him some milk.
And again I wondered "what if?"
What if he is allergic to whatever stung him? What if he goes into anaphylaxis? What if my kiss can't cure this?
My husband and I try not to react too much to minor bumps and bruises. We obviously care about our children's well-being but we also want our children to understand the difference between minor scrapes and major injuries. We have a "Is anything broken or bleeding?" philosophy. We try to put their hurts into perspective for them.
It also helps us too.
We know in the scope of their lives they're going to encounter pains and hurts. We know that we're not going to be there to fix all of them. We try to prepare them as we prepare ourselves for the inevitable.
Our kisses will not cure everything - no matter how much we may wish it so.
And then I started thinking about "The Wizard of Oz". That giant green head wreathed in flames with the booming voice. The one who could grant the scarecrow a brain, the tinman a heart and (my personal favorite, RIP Bert Lahr) the lion his courage. All roads led to his kingdom.
The great and powerful. The omnipotent and omnipresent. The fearsome and all mighty.
The fraud.
Remember when Toto discovers the pudgy old man behind the velvet curtain controlling the illusion?
When will that day come for me as a parent?
Will I be ready?
Even now, although I know she can't cure everything, there are still days when I crave my mom's comfort. When I want nothing more than to be wrapped in the cocoon of her unconditional love. When I want nothing more than to look up and see that giant green head wreathed in flames even though I know she's really just a pudgy old man behind a drape.
When will the day come that I am no longer the giant green head wreathed in flames for my own children? When will they realize that my kiss is not a panacea? When will they finally notice the pudgy old dude at the controls?
It is my hope that that day is long off. It is my hope that when they DO realize this that their troubles are easily solved by a degree, a watch or a kick-ass pair of shoes. It is my hope that the Wizard of Mom never has to take on the real wicked witches of this world - leukemia or brain tumors or incurable/inoperable diseases. It is my fervent hope that like Dorothy, my children will hold the power to cure their ailments within themselves. That their buckets of water are always full. That there somehow is power to my kiss and that they've stored it up inside of them for those rainy days.
It is my dream that I really am the Wizard of Mom and can place my kids in a balloon and take them over the rainbow and away from their troubles. That every yellow brick road my kids travel down is under my jurisdiction. That if the wicked witches do show up I can drop a house on them. That my power to heal is more than just my unending love and their belief.
That my kiss is not a fraud.
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