I'm posting in retrospect here....because it was a big story this summer.  "The Day My Baby Smashed Open His Beautiful Face".  It was traumatic--seriously.  It was a hot, hot summer evening and we were having dinner with dear friends.  The kind of dinner where both mommas are too hot and too tired, and a joint meal seems easier because at least the kids entertain themselves.  The older kids were outside playing manically, getting hyped up on fatigue and popsicles and the mommas joined the papas (he-he) when the clean up was done.  I was just thinking we should go, when out of the corner of my eye, I see Garrett trip.  Not a big deal.  Kids fall.  His daddy picked him up and came toward me.....and I am not even kidding here, I almost passed out.  He looked like Frankenstein on steroids.  The pictures do not do it justice.  It was massive.  Not really bleeding, but full of blood and with a crackled appearance, and sticking out from his forehead 3 inches.

You would think after all I've been through as a momma, this would not have shaken me so badly.  It was all I could do to speak reassuringly to the child and not throw up dinner.  After we determined he was okay and got him to bed, I cried and cried.  Garrett was just fine.  Momma was not okay.

See, the thing is, Garrett is still my child.  The one I cling to, put all my hopes in, the one I still trust to myself.    He's the child whose future I dream of instead of avoid thinking about.  I know this is not right, but it's where I am.  In some ways, I worry more about him than Lilah.  Crazy, I know.

The same truths apply equally to both my children.  They are children of God, on loan to us.  He loves them far more, and better, than I.  The Lord has a perfect plan for both their lives, a plan that numbered their days before the beginning of time.  The only difference between those truths is my perception....with one child I accepted them swiftly and wholly and with the other....well, it's a work in progress.  Because relinquishing control is hard for most of us, especially me--and when it comes to my babies, very unnatural.  But my hand was forced with Lilah.  I'm hoping it will be a more gradual process with Garrett.

You will be glad to know, (and not at all surprised, I'm sure) that Garrett handled his injury very well.  He used it to milk privileges (like eating on the couch), with skills that would have made any pre-teen proud.  Also, being familiar with the term 'goose egg', coined this his 'dinosaur egg' and joked to strangers "that it's about to hatch any day."