Zinnie Takes a Tumble

We--Jenn, Baby Z. and I--were at a gathering last night, an eighth  birthday party for my "niece," the adopted daughter of my good friends, M. and S. Things were chugging along as they usually do when we attend a social event. Jenn and I took turns carrying, watching, following, and generally hoovering over Zinnia, while the other parent ate, shmoozed, and generally enjoyed the festivities.

The last gathering we attended was Zinnia's own first birthday party. I wrote about it two to three blog entries ago. It was a good scene, but with so many hands touching Baby Z, it resulted in her getting sick for the first time in months ... which, of course, lead to Jenn getting sick which was quickly followed by you-know-who. Thus, we decided to set a boundary at future gatherings by requesting that people not touch her face.($) In doing so, we understood that some people would think we were overreacting, but our decision not to have Zinnia vaccinated has inspired us to err on the side of prudence. Our "Don't touch her face!" rule became a kind of good natured running joke during the above alluded to party, and just so it got the point across, I was okay with this.  

I have written in the past about not being a baby person. Over a beer at a local brew pub recently, I told a friend that before I had my own kid, I viewed babies as parasitic, personality-less blobs, something more to tolerate than enjoy. They were like jellyfish to me, at least until they learned to talk and interact like, you know, real humans.

Zinnia changed all of this for me. When said-friend invited me to tell him what I appreciated about my daughter's personality (albeit in a tone that I interpreted as his jaundiced skepticism), I described her thus:  

Zinnia is extremely intelligent and independent and very very sharp. She has a great sense of humor, she's sensitive and adventurous, and very possibly musically inclined. She is stubborn--none of this holding of mama or papa's fingers as she walks--and she never let us feed her by hand. She will either put something in her own mouth, or more likely, takes what we handed her and tries to shove it back into our mouths. She is generous, but not to a fault.

Once I finished, my friend declined to comment ... as I expected him to. For many male, non-parents, they view babies as I once did: "Yeah, yeah, cute--now what's for dinner?" It probably doesn't help that when we have people over, Zinnia is our dominant topic of discussion.

Anyway last night was going well. A flock of kids banged away at a pinada hanging from one of the porch beams nearly braining each other in the process while the adult attendees hung out and conversed on the periphery.

I passed the baby-torch to Jenn who was sitting on the second step and entered through the back door into the house to get some food.  To both Jenn's and my amazement, Zinnia had actually negotiated these very steps in both directions shortly after we arrived. Clearly our daughter was some sort of stairway savant, perhaps a future gymnast.

I loaded up my plate with food and had just turned to head back outside when I heard a chorus of "Ooooo's!" It was the type of sound one hears at a football game when a linebacker has just laid-out a wide receiver with a particularly violent hit.  My first reaction was that one of the kids had cracked open the pinanda, but the "Ooo's" were quickly followed by a moment of silence. This lead me to think something had happened, like one of the kids had gotten beaned or ...

Jenn came walking in, cradling our crying child in her arms. When Zinnia is hurt--if it's a Big Owie--she opens her mouth in a silently wail before finding her breath and shifting into a full lunged cry. A nasty bruise was already forming on her forehead.

Apparently without warning and before the lunging Jenn could grab her, Zinnia decided--on a whim--that she was a big enough girl now to negotiate the first stair all by herself. Wrong. She plummeted to the pavement below and scraped her forehead in an imperfect half gainer, before finishing with a somersault that came to completion when the back of her head smacked against the concrete with a discernible thud.

When Jenn passed me carrying Zinnia into the lliving room, my initial reaction was concern and fear, but with the absence of blood and Zinnia slowly calming down, these feeling was quickly replaced with anger and a kind of silent accusatory energy towards Jenn. What made things worse (and yes, I know this should have been the last thing on my mind), was that it happened in a completely public venue--a birthday party with 20+ kids and adults all bearing witness to the event. I know this absolutely shouldn't matter, but for some reason it did.

What made it even more glaring was that one of the couples attending the party stood silently by in the living room watching with concern, while another attendee hovered around offering to be--and actually was--helpful. The cumulative effect for the author, however, was that it left me feeling exposed and irritated.* Mainly exposed.

When Zinnia was back to her old, smiley self, Jenn and I took time to compare notes. We both had the standard guilt-laden thoughts that everyone must have been asking themselves how we could allow such a thing to happen. Even worse for Jenn was that she was painfully aware of my judging energy (i.e. How could you let this happen?). When we returned home, she tearfully informed me that she felt "totally betrayed" by the one person whose approval mattered most and disappointed that I would choose that moment to dispense blame.**

I admit my timing could have been better, but I'd like to think pointing an accusing finger somehow contributed to Zinnia's speedy recovery as well as strengthened my emotional connection with my wife.*** Bottom line, yeah, I did judge Jenn for "allowing" Zinnia to get hurt and also felt like a complete asshole for not being more supportive. Even while in the midst of it, I knew Z's tumble could have just as easily happened on my watch, and I was aware that my reaction was not remotely useful. All I can say is that it was me at my most fatherly human.

The good news is that babies are tough. Really tough. If one of us big people plummeted from, say, a second step into a full somersault and then landed on our back with a thud, we would either end up in the hospital or, at the very least, at home on the couch with a ice pack on her heads. As our helpful friend reminded us at the time, "That's why their heads are so soft."

$ And by people, I mean complete strangers and a myriad of germ-ridden kids who tend to interact with babies like they're little dolls.

*With hindsight, I probably should  have thanked everybody for their concern and politely asked them if we could please have a little space.

** Jenn shared with me yesterday that a mama friend of hers came out to the garage just after her daughter had taken a spill and started to bawl. Her friend pointed a accusing finger at her husband who had been outside with their daughter at the time. He informed her that their little girl had been walking across the garage with her new and developing legs and had just gone--splat!--face first onto the pavement. It felt like a nod to my reaction at the party and also to say, "See? Sometimes these things just happen."

***Kidding.