I was wrong.
We had spend the night before at my parents' house again, and awoke on the fourth slowly and relaxedly. We finally got rolling and packed up all our things and did some chores for them. Hubby and I were running around absorbed in different tasks when my sister said, "I think Sweet Pea is upstairs."
Now, no one really wants their under-two-year-old to go up a flight of stairs alone. But the problem with my parents' house is that both of their flights of stairs are solid wood. They are slippery. They are hard. We keep kids away from those stairs.
I started rounding the corner through the kitchen, saying, "Baby, Mama doesn't want you upstairs alone. You need to come down, okay?"
"Okay!" I heard her little voice say. I didn't mean that I wanted her to come down on her own. I was going to walk up and carry her down.
Except then I heard a sound, the sound I knew before I even heard any thumps was the sound of a tiny foot slipping, and suddenly I was screaming incoherently in a way I didn't know I could.
You know how time stops when something scary is happening? How everything is suddenly in slow motion? I got to the bottom of those stairs just in time to watch her head hit the hardwood floor in slow motion.
I know this stuff happens all the time. I know it has happened to every parent ever. I know babies bounce and I know that 99% of the time they are just fine. But my child had a huge, swollen lump on her temple and was screaming like I'd never heard and within 5 minutes we were on our way to the emergency room.
We took the same route to the same hospital I went to when a horse kicked me in the face. The same route my parents took after they were told I was there and had been kicked in the face. I couldn't help but think about how terrifying and awful and wonderful all at once this parenting business is, how one moment you can be wondering how much dressing to add to the green beans for the salad for the cookout and the next wondering if your child's brain is bleeding.
By the time we got there, the baby was totally calm. They got us in immediately and a very nonchalant doctor was looking her over within 10 minutes of our arrival. They decided to keep her for a couple of hours just for observation. Our "head injury" child spent that time playing in the room, singing the ABC's, watching Doc McStuffins on Daddy's iphone, eating hospital cafeteria chocolate pudding, giggling, laughing, and definitely not napping.
In other words, they released us early.
They probably laughed at the newbie parents after we got out the door. No concussion, nothing broken, just a good bruise on her head and her back. So it was a scare, but it was nothing. Thank you, Jesus.
|Ready to go, thankyouverymuch|
Honestly, as soon as she ate one someone handed her another. I think she had at least 5 pieces! Soon a bunch of the daddies got a jam session going and can I just say that they were pretty darn good?
|Oh, look who has more watermelon...|
|I think he thought he was in a parade.|
So what better way to end a day spent mostly at the hospital than by handing our baby a stick of fire? It was fine, I mean, we told her to be careful and everything.