Blotting paper skies

Yesterday felt like the longest day. One moment we are all busying ourselves in different rooms of the cottage and the next moment Murron slips and falls and the day is turned upside down. She fell hitting her forehead against the edge of a step. I don't think I will ever forget the noise she made. It's the kind of scream where you don't hesitate but just run - dropping whatever you are doing. Picking her up and tentatively checking her forehead left us in no doubt that we should take her to the hospital. In retrospect it probably looked a lot worse than it really was, but cradling her in my arms as she became grey and limp was very frightening. We are used to her bouncing about, full of life and she lay ashen and still. All three of my children have had to be taken to casualty at some point during their wee lives, but I have never seen any of them that colour. Perhaps it sounds overly dramatic, but there was a moment when I really thought this could be it and I realised how powerless I was. It was the most desperate of feelings and left me reeling. I'm posting late and Murron is fine now, but those feelings haven't faded - like any parent I love my children inside out, but I have no control over those little moments that can change lives in an instant. None at all and that is a sobering thought.