We used my brother and sister-in-law’s new house in North Carolina as an overnight layover in our travels. They have a lovely wooden chess set on their living room coffee table, as well as a perfectly Bird-sized dog, the largest ottoman known to man, cold diet cokes in the fridge, the biggest master bath I’ve ever showered in, a seven-thousand pound cat with a tiny mustache and many, many catalogs.
In Bird-land, that chess set became an irresistible tray with drinks on it. She carefully arranged them on the board and spent a lot of her time by herself, serving them in an orderly fashion on the floor, assigning them to imaginary friends ( the great Venture Adivans) and friends back home at daycare.
A few hours before we left for our final flight home, Bird tripped on the rug while she was arranging her drinks and made fierce contact with the edge of the coffee table, right between her eyes. It was a nasty fall, and afterwards she got clammy and quiet and really, really sleepy. We all worried. All of my mama senses overflowed with the primitive desire to hold her very, very tightly or even absorb her back in my body somehow. I felt like throwing up.
The medical advice we sought told us not to worry, and sure enough she snapped out of it on her own in about twenty minutes with a huge bruise in the middle of her forehead that has now faded to bright yellow. I’m so thankful she’s okay, and also so thankful for bangs.