Last night I went to my monthly Bunco game and Daddy and Truman had a boys night at home. They had dinner and watched football and apparently wore themselves right out because when I got home at the witching hour (9:00 pm) they were both sound asleep. I always feel a little empty after a night away from my boys. I had a great time at Bunco and I love getting away for a few hours, but I also feel like I’ve missed out on something. I am away all day at work. I got to see Truman for about 30 minutes between the time I got out and the time I left again. During that time I was changing my clothes and getting ready to leave, so it feels like I’ve missed out on an entire day of his life. This may not seem like a big deal and probably won’t to me in the future, but I have never spent the night away from him and we are pretty set in our little family routine, so it feels very foreign to me to be away.
This morning I was so happy to see my baby! We dropped Daddy off at work and headed home for a little cuddle time before getting ready. As I got him dressed for the day I noticed that he had a little purple bruise above his left eye, right on his brow bone and extending down onto his lid! I asked him what happened and he answered me with, “bee gee blo be bip…I no know… oww…” and pressed his little hand against his brow. Obviously, he was traumatized. My mind instantly raced through the possibilities and I decided that he probably fell on something last night or someone at daycare was abusing him. (That is where my mind goes…I know.)
I walked him into daycare and was told to take him to Miss Edna’s class, what we refer to as, “The Big Kid Class.” These kids are two and three. They are huge and scary looking to me, just as the one and two year olds looked when Truman went from the infant room to the toddler room. I opened the door and he stopped in the hallway.
“Come on Truman, let’s go in.” He just looked in the room and refused to move. “Come on baby, we have to go inside.”
He looked at me and shook his head no. I went to pick him up and he threw himself on the floor in the hallway and started crying. I carried him into the room and put him on his feet, and he grabbed my leg and wouldn’t let go! I instantly felt panicked. Why would he act this way? He never does this. The black eye. It must have happened here. It must be this room, these kids. These big, scary, awful kids who are probably beating him to a pulp every day and I’m not there to protect him. Of course the teachers can’t do anything, there are two of them against twenty gangster-type preschoolers! I had the incredible urge to grab my baby and run out the door, but Miss Mary scooped up Truman and kissed his cheeks and he snuggled into her shoulder before I could do anything rash. I left him reluctantly and headed to work, now fully convinced that one of those punks punched him in the eye yesterday. What was wrong with these kids?
I text Mike.
Did Truman hurt his eye last night or at daycare yesterday? He has a little black eye 😦
No it must have happened at daycare, but they didn’t say anything.
I knew it. They are covering for the bullies. I replied:
Yeah, it is above his left eye and this morning it was purple. I also had to take him to the big kid room and he wouldn’t go in and then he cried and wouldn’t let go of my leg. I feel so bad. He didn’t want to be in that classroom!
I don’t know what I expected. Maybe sympathy, or outrage or something along the lines of:
Go pick up our baby immediately and then quit your job so we know for a fact he’s safe at home with you all day. He is obviously traumatized and needs constant snuggling that only you, his mother, can provide.
What I got was:
He’ll be ok.
Well. There is the difference between Daddy and Mommy. Zero hysteria, no jumping to conclusions, no desperate need to bind an almost two year to his chest and never let him go. I settled myself immediately. It is nice to have someone sane to pull you back when you’re ready to jump off the ledge. Like when Truman got hit in the face with a toy by another child last month, resulting in a couple of scrapes on his nose and chin. The teacher told me about it, I realize accidents happen and Truman seemed to not even notice his little scrape. My husband did not handle it as well. He didn’t want to coddle our son, but he did want to know “which one did it” and wanted to “go in and have a talk with that brat.” So, maybe I feel the need to protect by shielding and Daddy feels the need to protect by kicking ass. Hopefully, between the two of us we can protect our kids when necessary but also remain employed, semi-sane and out of jail. We shall see.