Dearest Daughters,
I have to apologize.
I often write about Bel, characterizing you as injury-prone. I shouldn't label you or stick you in a box. You're only two. (But, knowing and accepting this about you means that you will most certainly be enrolled in dance, gymnastics or martial arts classes. You might never be a professional dancer and you might continue to run into invisible objects like I do. But, you can gain the physical confidence that I still lack from never doing anything remotely physical.)
I diverge.
So, yes you are injury-prone. And I shouldn't be caught emphasizing that, because turns out: so is your sister.
Yes, the child that I thought would gracefully somersault, back flip and quarterback through life. Yes, that one. She is also injury-prone.
Her injuries, though, are another animal altogether.
Here's what your injuries say about each of you:
The Rug Burn - Danjo, while your sister's brains are busy, you are just busy. Period. You don't trip, fall or run into things often. But, when you do, it's at full speed ahead, matey! I remember being at a college campus in Reno one summer of my childhood, Lola and Lolopop helping to run a youth conference there. Without child care, Unkinan and I ran around playing, Unkinan jumping off of furniture and the walls, getting rug burns left and right. I was ever so careful, but that summer I got my first and last rug burn. I've never run on a carpet since. Let's guess whose personality you share?
The Invisible Scratch - Bel, this is self-explanatory. Your injuries are at a microscopic, yet soul-crushing, world-shattering scale, from which there is no recovery. While your wounds are invisible they run deep.
The Big Bruise - Danjo, I'm starting to find bruises on you that I didn't give to you. You are a rough and tumble child and you dish back whatever your sister gives, twice as hard even though you're twice as small. And I never hear a peep about your injuries.
The Hand Scrape - Bel, you don't know how to fall. Plain and simple. You try to control the situation, to catch yourself with your hands. They get cut up as you embed gravel and splinters into your palms. I've tried to encourage you to be proud of your wounds like: Wahoo! Good job! Show Daddy how active and adventurous and brave you are! So far, no dice.
The Broken Bone - Danjo, I won't say anything to jinx us, but I have a sneaking suspicion about this one...
My epiphany: I was too quick to judge both my daughters. All children injure themselves. So, I must brace myself for a lifetime of helping my daughters cope with their pain, physical, emotional and otherwise. And may I never have a son. Amen.
Love,
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