I grew up with a mom who poured hydrogen peroxide (or Fizz, as she liked to call it due to its rabies like response to air and GERMS) on EVERYTHING that looked hurt. That was after she scrubbed it until it bled good and long. Blood washed the germs out too. As we got older, she'd come at our scratches and cuts with a clean toothbrush and a choice. Either we could scrub it or she would. She'd be the one to "Fizz" it after the dirt exorcism for complete absolution.
It was only a matter of time before it was revealed whether I would take after her or grow bacterial colonies between my toes for fun.Enter the catalyst of parenthood.
Espen is learning how to walk. Most of the time he is very well planted before he makes a move. Occasionally, the call of upright mobility overwhelms his need for stability.
In fair dining room is where we lay our scene. Espen crawls to mum and tugs at trouser leg. Mum crouches down to give Wesp a hand. He scrambles to his feet rapidly, proud, beaming at mum. His legs wobble and collapse as mum reaches to stabilize him. There is no need. He has arrested his fall with his teeth. Punched clean through his lower lip.
Now the baby is languishing in waves of woe, blood filling his wee mouth and dribbling down his chin. He is still proud, but shaken. Mum recalls The Incident Of The Cut Finger and all the drama that resulted from attempting to sanitize and bandage the baby without physical -containment of any kind . She grabs dad instead and makes him hold the baby while she presses a towel to The Bear's lip. Espen finds this capital fun. Blood everywhere. Cleanliness dubious at best. Scars imminent. All is joyful.
