Wounded, Part Two

J- man is recovering and on the mend. His nose is returning to normal and he's no longer bruised and bloody. Thank goodness because I was getting tired of kids and adults staring at his mangled face. The nose bone isn't broken, his cartilage is still pushed up but correcting itself, and the swelling will take six months to a year to completely go away. The doctor said to treat this injury as a plastic surgery, that we must wait a long time for his face to return to normal. At this point, though, there is no surgery in his future.

As far as my recovery after the whole affair? It's been surprisingly swift. I've had no choice because despite my son's injury, my job as a mother has continued. I still have two other children who need attention, all three who must be fed, laundry washed, toys put away, and on, and on, etc, etc, ad infinitum. On top of that, I still have the J-man who is in a constant struggle with Sir Isaac Newton.

I've noticed something about my youngest child; he either disagrees with the laws of physics and feels he shouldn't be restrained by something as piddling as gravity or he has inherited my klutziness. I hope it's the former and that I am mother to a future astronaut but I fear it's the latter and that I'm actually mother to a young boy who will one day try out for football only to end up in the hospital and later join the chess club.

In the 17 days since his fateful meeting with a stone wall, the J-man has done the following:

• Tripped over his brother's feet and nearly met the pavement in a Target parking lot.

• Tripped on the step up into the kitchen from the garage and nearly met our hardwood floor.

• Been smacked on the nose by Miss-Miss during a dispute over who was crowding who on the bed during morning cartoons.

• Been walloped on the nose with a toy car, by Bubba, during a dispute over who was going to play with said car.

• Watched his sister somersault backwards off the arm of the couch and onto his face.

• Careened down our cul-de-sac on his tricycle and spectacularly crashed said tricycle in said cul-de-sac, resulting in several scrapes and my neighbor Jodi rushing out of her front door declaring that she was going to buy him a foam suit and helmet.

So, yeah, after the second brush with earthly forces, I went back to the normal nonchalance regarding my youngest child's track record with the laws of the falling apple. I'm now the mom who is all Oh, he fell? Please. I've seen worse. And who then bandages up my child with nary a second glance while simultaneously cooking dinner, vacuuming carpet, and reading the latest Janet Evanovich.

I'm there, people. I'm finally there.