My lil' scrapper.

injury: day 1

injury: day 2

Betsy fell at school, yesterday, while pushing a couple of other girls

on this merry-go-round bike thingy.

It got going to fast, and she couldn't keep up and wiped out.

It could've happened anytime, anywhere, with anyone.

With her, it breaks my heart into 10.347 more pieces than usual.

I can't help but wonder if she'll always be taken advantage of.

I'm not saying in this situation she was taken advantage of,

but this is what was running through my mind...

"Betsy, come push us, because we know you're super strong,

and you're willing to do the gigs no one wants, and we don't really want

you to ride with us, but you're good enough to push us."

Now, I know for a fact, that's not what happened.

It was innocent.

But those cursed thoughts of possible similar future situations crept in.

"Betsy, if you spray paint the side of the teacher's car,

we'll think you're super cool, and everyone will clap for you,

and you won't even get in trouble."

Wink, wink.

Stuff like that.

It's a cruel world, and let's face it,

she doesn't talk, wants to please,

and, generally, just wants to do what the gang is doing.

We all have anxieties about raising our children.

What can happen to them once they leave the safety of our homes?

Imagine for a moment that your child cannot speak,

and will do just about anything anyone asks of her.

The worry can be grueling at times.

The cherry on top is that since her communication skills are quite primitive,

I don't know how bad she hurts, if she needs Motrin,

if she'd like a backrub, or to rest in Momma's bed.

She's like a 60 lb. infant/toddler,

with 5-year-old wants and needs.

The good news is this:

she seems fine.

A little bruised, but back to her ole self.

Ten minutes after her fall, she was back to laughing and coloring.

Her teachers and therapists adore her,

and even called this morning to check in.

I couldn't ask for her to be in better hands.

Once again, my worries seem to be my own stupid hang-ups.

When is some of Betsy's outlook on life going to rub off on me.

Geesh!

Half the time when she looks at me,

I could swear she's saying,

"Mom, chill out!

Don't sweat all this stuff that you can't predict,

or, better yet, control.

Enough, already!"

Thank you, Betsy.

I will do my best.