Chopping tomatoes this morning for breakfast, I sliced my finger with the knife. Sucking on the finger to stop the blood flow, I went to my mother, who was busy working on a presentation. "hmmmmm.... mmmmm....." I said, trying to grab her attention. She said without turning around,"What happened? Need help?"
"Hmmmmmm.... mmmmm... I said.", trying to grab her attention; but she wouldn't turn around.
"I cut my finger." is all I had to mumble when she turned around, immediately muttering under her breath,"Must have been using that sharp knife. I've already cut my finger on that twice. Why aren't you careful. How bad is it. I hope you don't need stitches......" without stopping for breath or an answer.
I just looked at her as I stuck out my finger and she wiped it with a piece of cotton soaked with Dettol, held it together till the bleeding stopped, and bandaged it after. I looked at her and pouted and she kissed the bandaged.
I've cut myself in the kitchen before; on innumerous occasions when Mom wasn't around. And I have been more than capable of cleaning up and bandaging myself. But I'm the Grown-Up-Independent girl on those occasions. And when Mom is around, I'm 5 years old again. When she's around, I need her to bandage my wounds, to wipe my tears and to pat my head to sleep!
When she's around, I can fuss over every paper cut; because when I'm by myself, it's a scratch, but when I'm with her, I got a boo boo!
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