From time to time we're flashing back to some of Grandmary's additions to my baby book. These sheets were just stuffed to the back of the book for years and years. I've sorted them into order, and put them in archival sleeves to preserve them in their physical state. They are also preserved here for all to see. Not the different formatting and different fonts. Most especially, check out Grandmary's handwriting. That's super fun to see.
The reason we get an entry so relatively soon after the January 1975 addition, is because my track record of being a klutz is starting to leave evidence all over my face - marking me for years to come.May 20, 1975
I’d better add this or I doubt I’ll remember it when I write again. It has been a non spring, but on the pretty days [Nettie] won’t go outside. One Saturday, she was riding with her daddy on the motorcycle and got a bug up her nose. Now, she is afraid of bugs and being outside. [AN: And wouldn’t you be, if a bug flew up your nose? YECH!] Our first real fear to conquer. She still tells us no and won’t listen. Who says the threes are calm years?
And I must not forget her stitches. On January 28, I was bathing Jed and she came into show me something and ran out, as she had been told not to do—run in the house. She tripped, and I heard a crash. She started to cry, which was unusual, so I asked her what was wrong. She only kept crying, so I jerked Jed out of the tub, wrapped him a towel, and rushed into the family room to see what was the matter. There she was sitting by the big chair with blood all over her face. I put Jed in his crib, grabbed a towel and wiped off the blood to assess the damage. Immediately, I could tell that she needed stitches, so I called Max to come home take her up to the hospital, since it was about 8:30 [a.m.] and the doctor would not be in until 9:00 or later. I held her to keep her talking because I was frightened too and did not know how hard the blow had been. She got about 8 stitches, but the scar is looking fine now and in time will not be noticeable at all. She still runs in the house, though. [AN: It was the 1970s. Plastic surgery in the ER didn’t crop up until the 1990s. It took about 30 years, but you can barely notice the scar dissecting my eyebrow unless you know where to look.]
And finally, on March 11 she got her last molar, but not before a cold and throwing up. At least she has all her teeth now, and two sets of stitches.
AN Notes: Two sets?! Oh yes. The 1970s were the era when all kinds of accidents happened that caused later regulations. Say, like the seat belts in the shopping cart carriages? The story goes that I stood up in a metal grocery store shopping cart and it tipped over, causing a scar on the underside of my chin. I don’t remember this happening, unlike the above mentioned trip to the ER. THAT trip I remember, unlike most of the B.C. (before Connecticut 1980 move) years. Unless you are looking up at my chin, you can’t see the scar. You probably CAN see the other scar on my chin, caused by messing around with Jed and a metal vacuum cleaner when we were teenagers. Moral of that story? Don’t mess around with your brother and a metal vacuum cleaner and then try to hide the accident and lie to your parents, or you’ll have the physical scars to show for it for the rest of your life. Some people carry all their scars on the inside. I have battle wounds on the outside, as well as in an archival box to exhume later.