About my mom
Author: W. K Hayes
About my mom
Oddly enough, I do remember one thing from being a baby. I was sitting in a highchair, in the kitchen and was playing with a toy frog. I recall being slumped to one side, where I was still learning to sit up and getting my first lessons on life the hard way.
My oldest brother had let me play with toy frog. He showed me how the frog was connected by a plastic pipe to a plastic bulb on the end. I remember him squeezing the bulb and making the frog leap which, seemed pretty straight forward.
I clearly recall, squeezing the bulb as hard as I could but nothing happened. Frustrated, I hit the tray with the bulb, on the highchair and the frog wiggled to life. So, I did it again. That time, the frog hopped about an inch.
Here I was, maybe six months old and I had my first, Caveman Discovery! I was giggling by then and started whacking that bulb on the tray until mom told me to settle down while she washed dishes. Grouchy butt…I was having fun.
Anyway, it was then that I had my first caveman experience and act of defiance, I slammed that bulb down as hard as I could and the frog leaped right off the tray and fell to the floor.
Nevertheless, I tried pulling the frog back up but it would not budge past a certain point. Fairly certain of this, I leaned over the side of the highchair, tried to see and discovered I was right.
One of the front legs of the frog was hooked on the bar that ran between the legs of the highchair. I stretched as far as I could to lean over while shaking the bulb, hoping the leg would come lose and I could get the frog back.
Instead, the blub slid out of my fingers as I quickly sat up to watch it slide right on out of my hand and hit the floor. Quickly, I leaned back over and wracked my ribs on the arm of the chair. I yelped and naturally, started crying.
My mom, being oblivious to what had happened, whipped around and dried her hands quickly. Her worried eyes stared straight at me like a chicken hawk obviously wanting to know if I was okay.
Bear in mind, with fat-little-pudgy arms and the tray being too close, I could not reach around and grab my ribs no matter how hard I tried. All mom saw was her baby boy flailing around and crying…undoubtedly, red in the face like a little tomato in a sleeper.
“Come on tootle-bug…it’s time for you to take a nap”, she said as she picked me.
Now, the fine art of picking up a baby is generally carried out by grabbing the baby gently beneath their arms. So, when mom picked me up, ever so gingerly…she grabbed my ribs…those same ribs that were undoubtedly still in severe pain.
Needless to say, I screamed with all my worth. My mom quickly moved me from her ear, looked right at me and remarked, “Wow you really are sleepy”!
Truth of the matter is…I was okay other than my ribs hurting and that my initial cry was a plead for help. Ultimately, I wanted the boo-boo made better, I wanted the frog back in my fat-little-fingers and I would have been a happy camper. Instead, I was taken and laid down for a nap.
The moral of the story is pretty simple. When your baby cries, always take a minute and decipher the clues of the scene. As my grandpa would say, “Now, I said that to say this”. His favorite annotation for telling a story that has a second point that usually seemed more pertinent to getting at his point.
Had my mom thought about what had I happened, she would have realized I hurt my ribs. Instead, she found the bruise on my ribs later on, (yea, I whacked them good), and became overly concerned about how I had gotten the bruise, questioning every possible thing in her mind. I do believe she was afraid someone would think, she did it, not that my mom would have.
I miss you mom…rest in peace.
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