He bounded into the family room and threw himself onto the love seat—because he never just enters a room or sits on the furniture, either. Every move that kid makes is as if he has turbo power.
After all these years, I’m accustomed to the bursting and catapulting and bounding and throwing, so I didn’t even glance his way as he commenced rocking back and forth on the love seat.
It probably wasn’t more than a few minutes before I finally deigned to look at him, but in retrospect, I can’t help feeling it was a few minutes too long, and I really should’ve looked at him as soon as he appeared.
He had a nosebleed, and as is usually the case when these things happen, he was—well, a bloody mess.
But what is also usually the case is that in the past, whether he’s covered in blood or mud or something guaranteed to make me jump out of my seat with a scream, he’ll come and stand before me or, if I’m seated at the computer, quietly stand behind me until I turn to look at him.
For his own part, he never makes a sound; he just has to show himself to me. But last night, he apparently didn’t seem concerned enough to strike his familiar but dreaded, “Hey Mom, look at what a mess I am!” pose.
I found bloodstains in his bedroom, so he was like this when he barreled into the family room. I really should have noticed.
By the time I cleaned him up, the bleeding seemed to have subsided. Afterward, he still insisted on rocking back and forth, which I feared would cause the bleeding to resume, but it didn’t. An hour later his meds finally kicked in and he fell asleep, but I continued to check that nose.
He is fine.
These things upset me more than they do him; in fact, he never seems upset. I don’t know if it’s because he’s a boy or if I should be worried about that, but just to be on the safe side, I am.