Yesterday, my second oldest daughter lost one of her earrings. It was a tragedy. Her loud wailing, the kind that rattled our house and scared the neighbors declared it a level five disaster. My neighbor might have even called 911 for us. That’s a strong might…
Any Mama knows the ‘hurt’ cry…of course, not to be confused with the hangry, tired, I didn’t get my way, timeout, crying because I have LARGE (and charged) emotions in a tiny body, crying just to cry to make Mama crazy cry.
And a mama’s ears are super efficient when detecting the hurt cry. Doesn’t matter where we are, we can zone in on that sound.
I’m almost a hundred percent certain I will be able to pick-up the hurt cry frequency even when my girls go away to college, even if that happens to be out of state (it won’t, I’ll hide those acceptance letters). I’m almost certain a mother invented both the red-eye flight and facetime.
“Mom, I stubbed my toe and I’m 23.” Sealed with an epically sized eye-roll, “Go home, pahhhhlease. I have to find myself, without you…”
I won’t finish that ‘future’ conversation. It just ends with me ugly crying.
Yesterday, my eardrums throbbed with the hurt cry. Adalynne was critically injured, or so I thought.
I scared myself at the speed (95 miles an hour to be exact) my out of shape legs clocked in at as I raced up the stairs to find her. (This is where I tell you that a Mama’s adrenaline is straight BEAST mode. There would be no need for pre-work out if we could somehow bottle it up.)
As I barreled up the stairs, like I had just hit the switch to ignite the nitrous strapped to my back, flashbacks of Adalynne breaking her arm when she was three had my heart beating out of my chest. We’ve all seen that viral video of that guy who drank 20+ redbulls. That’s how hard my heart was beating. If you haven’t seen that video—do. not. google. it.
You’re thinking about googling it, aren’t you?
Fine. I warned you.
I make it up the stairs, now sniffing for the scent of blood. These cries mean blood. EVERYWHERE.
I make it into the bonus room where my child is rolling all over the floor, holding her earlobe. I stop on a dime in front of her, my hands on my knees trying to suck air into my dehydrated lungs as quickly as possible so I don’t kill over in front of the children (who are standing at the side of the room, looking bored).
I want to scream let me see the blood, or worse your jagged ripped earlobe. But I have no air. (this is where I confess to having tennis shoes from high school that are still in great condition. That’s my physically activity level, folks.)
I pull her hand back and saw neither. Nope, no blood. No jagged, ripped earlobe…just loads of overreaction.
I knew two things that moment. 1. Mama needs some cardio. 2. I was going to hurt Adalynne.
Ever come down from a wicked Mama adrenaline high? If you have, then there are no words needed. But if you haven’t, it’s a migraine/hangover/pmsing mixed into one for the rest of the day.
This happened at 10 a.m. Enough said.
After we both calmed down, she told me how she just realized she’d lost her earring (she doesn’t know how…) and was convinced that her earhole was within seconds of closing. Maybe she was having flashbacks of getting her ears pierced. That’s another story…
“They are going to close right now!!! WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING AT ME?!” Adalynne growled.
I had to laugh, because the latter was to ring her neck for scaring years off my life. I might have really laughed because she is a tad dramatic. I have no idea where that comes from? Her father.
Today, she picked out new earrings. The biggest she could find.
Christmas earrings in April, because…
This life is once.
And sometimes a little drama makes life’s sparkle brighter.