For nearly 4 years, I have succeeded at holding a perfect record for keeping my kids out of the ER, and I intended to keep that perfect record..FOR-EV-ER. That is, until this past Monday when I lost control of a slippery wet little boy and sent him, face-first, onto the bathroom tile. Now, my record is nothing more than a shattered dream. If only I had... If I would have just... If I had never...
Wrapped in a towel after finishing his bath, I picked up Zachary to carry him into his room to get dressed for the day. Yes, his little legs work perfectly fine and he is very capable of walking the 10 feet between the bathtub and his bedroom, but he LIKES for me to carry him. And he likes to have a look at himself in the mirror, all wrapped up in his towel and swaddled in his mother's arms. This is something that will not last forever, so that being said, it is a part of our normal routine.
It is all sort of blur now, but I recall that, just as I began to turn toward the mirror, I started losing my grip on Zachary, which grip I could not recover. Slipping...slipping... And then, SPLAT. I watched helplessly as Zachary fell flat on his face. Thoughts racing through my head, I pick him up off the floor to assess the damage. My worst fear was that he might have broken teeth, and I was very thankful that he didn't. I noticed that his chest and stomach were red where they smacked the floor, but after seeing that everything else was OK, I noticed a little blood coming from beneath his chin. I took one look and knew right away that he was going to need stitches. It was off to the ER we went.
Luckily, Zachary was fine, and though he didn't want to have to go to the hospital (who does?), he was remarkably calm and handled the situation very well. I was happy that the waiting room had been virtually empty so we didn't have to wait very long to be taken back for him to be treated. Of course, the doctor and nurse did have to strap Zachary to a board and wrap him up like a mummy so he would stay still for them, but once they cleaned out his wound and glued it shut, we were on our way with an armful of stickers and a stuffed animal souvenir.
I've now realized how unrealistically high my expectations were, so I've decided to modify my goal just a little. Instead of "never having to take my kids to the ER," my new goal will be: "Never having to take my kids to the ER for SOMETHING THAT WAS MY FAULT!"
5 comments:
If it makes you feel any better I've been to the emergency room for numerous things that were my fault. Two of my kids have knocked their front teeth out, or up. I've had a child fall off the monkey bars and hit her head so hard she had a seizure. I've had a child eat an old Vicodin. Shall I go on? Your record is pretty good in comparison!
I accidently hurt my children all of the time! Poor things!
I had the same routine of holding Jack in front of the mirror all wrapped up in a towel. He loved it! I would always squeeze him and say, "Oh my little baby" even when he was 3. I have sometimes done it with the others but not every time like I did with Jack. He still remembers it.
The guilt. The shame. The long wait in the ER. I caused an injury to my own child at about the same age too. We were both standing by the refrigerator and I dropped a cold stoneware pan filled with leftovers (that tuna cassserole you dined on with me once) on Lindsey's little foot. It made a gash in her flesh about an inch long and was a bloddy mess. Every time I see the scar on her foot to this day, I apologize to her. She's totally fine with it and laughts about it now.
Poor Zachary. Hopefully he will be as resilient as Lindsey.
bloody, not bloddy
Sheyenne, I've been dying to ask: What happens to kids that eat old Vicodin? Do they stop being a pain? HAHAHAHAHA I crack myself up. :)
Heidi, yes, Zachary is and will forever be my "baby boy". We read that book, I'll Love You Forever, and I imagine crawling into my son's window someday when he is grown. Talk about the ultimate bedtime story for "stalker moms." :D
Kelly, Zachary has bounced back! He's been a trooper from the beginning. I just wish he wouldn't have picked at the glue so much. And he hates the Mederma that we try to use to reduce the scarring. I hate that my son's perfect little face might have a permanent blemish to remind us both of what I did to him.
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