Burned

You know how some injuries are too painful, cut too deep, or are too traumatic to talk about right away? A few weeks ago two members of our family experienced such trauma. Weston and I were both badly burned, and I am finally ready to share our stories.

I was busily getting myself ready in my bathroom, applying rouge, perfumes, and the various powders necessary to create the manifestation of glamor that is Angelica Joy Hatch. I was accomplishing this seamlessly despite the wiggly little man attempting to ascend my legs, when all of the sudden he lost his grip. Little Weston swung around me, arms flailing, trying desperately to grab on to anything that would prevent his almost certain fall to the floor. He caught the only thing available, the cord to my flat iron, which was plugged in, waiting patiently to straighten my bangs.

It all happened so fast... before I could grab it my scalding hot Chi was bouncing off my poor child's face. By the time I picked him up only a split second had passed, but it was long enough to leave two red marks on each cheek and scalded and torn skin on the side of his nose. I scooped up my baby and comforted him, then went straight to my computer and Googled "child face burn". After browsing the url's and finding one from webMD that looked credible, I determined that Weston had 2nd degree facial burns, and called my pediatrician.

He was prescribed silverdine cream and ibuprofen to manage the pain. I asked for some xanax, seeing as the incident had been pretty hard on me as well, but the doc said no. His poor face blistered and scabbed over, and I spent the next ten days feeling compelled to explain his condition to everyone who saw him so as to assure people that I don't abuse my children (because I'm sure that the people who do abuse their children never make up stories to explain their injuries). Our little Bubby is almost completely healed, with only small red marks on his cheeks. This appears to be an injury from which he will fully recover.


The second burn occurred right after Weston's, but it isn't healing nearly as fast. It started one evening when Ryan and I were out to dinner with our good friend Adam. We were joking about Ryan being fat and me being a marathon runner. One thing led to another, I may have gotten carried away, and I threw down the proverbial gauntlet and challenged my husband to a race.

The course was set: a 100 yard dash. Being a very bad judge of distance and thinking that 100 yards was more like half a mile, I was sure I could beat him, and said so to all that would listen. I saw no way that he would make it that far without running out of steam.

We got home around midnight, dropped the babysitter off, and changed into our running gear. Ryan immediately began warming up with a series of high-knees and butt-kickers that were funny enough to put Jim Carrey to shame. Then we marked off the distance on the street in front of our house. Uh-oh. Apparently 100 yards isn't that far at all (my awe of football players dropped significantly).

On Adam's mark we took off, and I got burned. Badly burned. After about 30 yards, all I could do was laugh (at myself). We raced best of three (thinking he might tire out), but he smoked me every time. I honestly had no idea that my husband could run that fast. It is quite impressive, and humbling. I still have no doubt that I could beat him in a longer race, but only because he couldn't finish, but that man is not as slow as he looks.

I'm afraid this will be the injury that leaves a scar...