My son fell off of his steps after washing his hands for dinner Friday night and cracked his noggin on a corner of the bathroom wall. I knew it wasn’t just an ordinary whapping of the head because he was using his “wow – that really hurt” cry. It’s high pitched and drawn out and there’s no mistaking it from his usual “ow, that didn’t feel good” cry.
TJ was in another room doing something and, as I scooped him up from the floor, I heard her say “he’s alright…” My immediate response was a hysterical, “No, he’s not! He’s bleeding!” Yeah, I don’t do so well in a bloody crisis. TJ does. She calmly says “let’s clean it off and see what we’re dealing with.” So I give him to her and get a washcloth from the hall closet. After just a few seconds, the first cloth is covered in blood so I get another one. TJ finishes cleaning the wound and it stops bleeding pretty quickly and she reassures me that everything is just fine and that she doesn’t think it’s a big enough cut to warrant any stitches. I wasn’t quite so sure but kept quiet. If I had been home alone, I would have rushed him off to the hospital before the first drop of blood hit the linoleum.
I left them in the bathroom to finish getting cleaned up and went to the kitchen to finish getting dinner ready. TJ comes in a few minutes later, carrying Micah, and they both gave me a big hug. And in response, I started to cry. TJ laughed and said, “get used to it, honey. It’s the first of many more to come.”
By the way, the picture that goes along with this blog is of Micah after he had a cyst removed. It’s the closest I could come to a scalp wound. Sara chastised me for not getting a picture of the bloody mess for his scrapbook. She called me a crappy mother. Damn her!!