have a nice trip, we'll see you next fall

Garrett keeps tripping.

And falling.

And sending his lower teeth shooting through his upper lip, resulting in pools of blood dripping from his mouth.

Oh, the hazards of walking. The inside of Garrett's upper lip suddenly looks like a battlefield. It's gross. And it has the habit of sending me into a state of panic.

His first bloody mishap occurred on Monday. I heard him trip and fall, which is a very normal thing for him to do these days. Only this time, he cried harder. When I went to comfort him, I realized that, judging by the amounts of blood pooling around his mouth, this was no ordinary fall.

For a moment, I completely lost my senses. How in the world was I supposed to control the bleeding of a mouth wound? And on a squirmy one-year-old?! When I came to, I grabbed a damp paper towel and shoved it in his mouth, thus engaging in a physical battle to determine how long I could keep it there. The blood kept coming; I started envisioning stitches. In my panic, I called Blake, knowing full well that, from his office desk, he could do nothing more than give me words of reassurance and perhaps a little guidance. At about the same time he picked up the phone, the bleeding in Garrett's mouth began to subside and his happy personality rose to the surface. I gave him some Tylenol and sent him back to play, crossing my fingers that this would never happen again.

Never say never, the experts like to say. Because then Wednesday comes, with another bloody fall, only this time it's worse. More tears, more blood, and, when I'm finally able to examine the wound, more panic. Stitches this time? I don't know. I call my mom, knowing full well that, from her home 2,200 miles away, she could do nothing more than give me words of reassurance and perhaps a little guidance. I listened as she told me things I already knew, but desperately wanted to hear anyway. As she talked, the bleeding in Garrett's mouth finally subsided and, relieved, I let him go back and play.

There's a lot about Brooklyn that used to scare me but doesn't anymore. Knowing what to do if my child is involved in some sort of emergency situation is not on that list. If, say, he needed stitches, could his doctor down the block take care of it? Would I need to find an urgent care facility or, worse yet, take him to a hospital ER? Not having a car only complicates things. A cut requiring a few stitches doesn't seem to be ambulance-worthy, but I don't feel comfortable taking a bleeding child for a ride on the bus or subway. There are car service options, but I hear rumors that liability might prevent them from giving ER drop offs.

Look at me -- my nerves are wracked, and for no pressing reason. Let's just hope that if (if -- not when) something like that ever happens while we live here, I'll be able to keep my wits about me.

In the meantime, though, let's switch gears. All this talk about falling reminds me that fall has arrived in Brooklyn. It's fun to watch the seasons change in the city. I used to think that changing seasons weren't noticeable in cement-filled cities, but after living here for over a year, I have been proved wrong. Here are a few autumn shots taken around our neighborhood:



I was reading the other day that one of the best places for spectacular autumn vistas here in the city is on the 7th floor of Bergdorf Goodman overlooking the colorful foliage at the foot of Central Park. Maybe we'll make it up there sometime before the trees strip down in winter nakedness.