Best Day Ever!

I was so close. SO CLOSE! A mere 13 days away. Big Red almost made it to his second birthday without major medical attention.


I decided to take them to the library today, for preschool story time. Harmless right? It's not like I'm letting them jump off the swing set or climb the wood pile. We got there early (mistake number 1!) and the kids were running around, burning off some energy. Big Red runs toward the door, trips and bangs his head against the door. I walk over, pick him up and say my standard boo-boo line, "S'okay, no blood no penalty."


Except, there was blood. A lot of it. Well, shit.


I grabbed the first aid kit out of the diaper bag (yes, it has come to that) and swabbed the cut with some bactine-soaked cotton pads. Once the blood was wiped away, I could see how deep the cut was. I then mentally upgraded from cut to gash.


The moms, none of whom I knew in the slightest, clustered around me gasped. Several told me that he was going to need stitches. I turned around and bitch slapped the lot of them agreed and bundled the kids back to the car.


Props to Missy Hoohaw: She didn't whine about not going to the library, didn't cry, didn't make a peep, just grabbed to book bag and followed me. Those with kids understand what a precious gift that is.


So we went home, called Schmaiser, cancelled his hair appointment (how on the ball was I???) and let Mr. Clairol know what was going on. Schmaiser told us we needed to go to the ER (shit, shit, shit) and so I gathered my kids, my vodka and my courage and set off. I braced us for the worst, explaining to Missy what I suspected the doctor would do and that while it might seem scary, it was going to help Red get better.


This is where I get all sentimental and completely reverse my stand on Schmaiser. They were awesome. It didn't even matter that I didn't get Dr. Kovach or a reasonable facsimile, though Schmaiser? Would it kill you to hire some hotties? Just sayin'. We were taken right in, the receptionist brought us crayons, coloring books and stickers for both kids and we saw the doctor within 45 minutes of being there. He was very nice, explained everything, related to both kids and me, everything I want in my emergency medical care. The nurse, intern and nursing student who assisted with the procedure (THE STITCHES, OH MY GOD!!!!!) were delightful.


After the administration of a lidocaine gel, which Red protested mightily, thank-you very much, the intern and nursing student came in to irrigate the wound. Intern says to me, "I think we may need to papoose him. Do you think he'll squirm?"


"Um, yeah. He's two, they tend to do that." Honest to God, it didn't sound as bitchy when I said it. I grabbed the sheet from the foot of the bed and wrapped Red up so his arms were immobile. He loved it. Not. I looked at the intern, waiting for the next set of instructions and his jaw was on the floor.


"I have seriously never seen anyone do that so fast. You are a hard-core mom." At least I think that's what he said. I could barely hear, for Red's bellowing. Let the irrigation begin. I obviously took him off guard, because he needed to go get towels. WHAT? You don't bring towels to a frickin' irrigation??? Kovach would have had the towels there. You know he would have.


The intern was freaking out. Apparently, he hates to hear kids cry. It breaks his heart. Grow a set, doc, or find a new field. Ya ain't handing out lollipops here, you know? I joked that being a mom hardens the heart and he sort of laughed and sort of decided he was scared of me. Wise decision, my young intern friend. Irrigation finished, he then left the room and the doctor came in.


We re-papoosed Red, which let me tell you, was a party, and he screamed and cried and hollered the entire time. Not that I blame him. I wanted to do a little screaming and crying myself. Instead, I crooned reassurances to him as I held him down (yet more fuel for therapy) and comforted Missy, who was in a corner, whimpering. In the middle of this, the young nursing student turns to me and says, "You make this look so easy." If my hands hadn't been full, I would have hugged the child and told her to get an IUD. Because I really, really wanted to be in the corner with my three year old, whimpering.


More Props for Missy: That kid was amazing. She maintained beautifully during the entire ordeal. Every person I came across told me how great my kids were and what a fantastic mom I must be. I never hear that (in the real world), so I was gratified beyond belief. Not that it made it worth it or anything. I would take being told I'm a lousy mom to three brats if Red could not have a big gash in his head. No one's offering that though, so I'll take the kudos.


We all survived. Red fell asleep on the way home. Missy reveled in a rare Happy Meal and lemonade. I drowned my sorrows in a 32 oz. Sweet Tea (they totally aren't kidding about the sweet. 31 oz of that shit is sugar). I did not eat McDonald's food though. So that is a victory. Because if that wasn't a day to stress eat, I don't know what would be.


Red's fine. Three stitches, right by the hairline. Missy's fine, no nightmares yet, but the night is young. I'm doing surprisingly well. Congratulating myself for not crying, fainting, panicking. I was on my game today and that turned out to be a good thing. I'm even planning on trying story time next week. Though we won't be there early.


And I was kidding about the vodka. I'm more of a whiskey girl. I think I can actually hear David shrieking from here. I am not a big ole lesbian!!! Not that there's anything wrong with that...