Perhaps you'd like to look a little closer...
Yes, my friends, it's true. Little A has yet another injury...
It was Wednesday morning. My Dad and I were rushing around, trying to get the girls ready for the day. Sassy has late start for preschool, and she had a special Math Munch event, where one adult was supposed to accompany her to make educational games for use over summer break and have donuts. She decided Graycop was the man for the job. I was trying to get myself and Little A ready so that she could be dropped of to MDO by 9:30. I was planning to shoot over to the preschool at that time, help with what I could, and then ride with my Dad to visit my Mom in the hospital.
So, Sassy was ready to go, and Little A was still in her jammies. I had left the girls with my Dad to sneak off to the bathroom and brush my teeth. I was mid-brush when I heard a loud bang and an awful scream...
I tore into the front room, trying to locate Little A, the obvious source of the screaming. Sassy intercepts my path, visibly upset herself.
Me: What happened? Where's your sister?
Sassy (as I scoop up Little A): I (sob) acci(sob)den(sob)tally (sob) pushed her...
Now, here's a funny thing that happens when you are a parent. Well, at least it happens to me. Makes me feel guilty every time. Being that I have pretty high expectations of Sassy, I always try to follow through with situations involving her. Sometimes, this happens at Little A's expense.
For example, let's look at toy swiping. Sassy and Little A are playing. Little A has toy. Sassy yanks toy from Little A. Little A cries. For some reason, my immediate reaction is to go to Sassy, invest time into correcting her, explaining why it's not OK to take toys away from her sister, and lead her through the steps of giving it back and saying she is sorry. Meanwhile, Little A remains upset that she has just had a toy taken away from her, compounded by the fact that her Mama did not take the time to comfort her. Ick.
Does this happen to anyone else??
Anyway, this is pretty much what proceeds to unfold Wednesday morning. I scoop Little A up, patting her back for comfort without even taking a glance at her. I devote all my attention to questioning Sassy: What happened? Why did you push her? Did you push her or bump her? Where did she fall? And so on. And so forth.
Apparently, Sassy either pushed or bumped Little A off the foyer stair, where she proceeded to fall, hitting her eye on the corner of the antique marble-top during descent. All in all, I will call us very lucky to have had the injury occur where it did- millimeters away from her precious baby blue.
I sat Sassy down on the couch, where she proceeded to have a full blown panic attack over what would happen to Little A. At the same time, I am on the phone with her pediatrician's office, as the amazing phenomenon of I have medical training, yet every ounce of it goes out the window when it has anything to do with my own children, the end. takes over my body. Happens every time.
I've got Sassy wailing on the couch, afraid that little A will have to go to live at the hospital for ever and ever. I've got my Dad standing there staring at me... God forbid he should offer to take screaming child from me, who is currently suspended between my hip and the counter so that I can apply pressure to her gaping wound with my one free hand as I attempt to feebly listen to instructions over the phone that I've barely got balanced with my other hand in order estimate the width of her laceration in comparison to pencil erasers and rabbit droppings...
Need I continue or are you getting the picture??
The point is this- Little A had a laceration insanely close to her eye. Albeit very narrow, it was very deep, bleeding good, and not staying closed with pressure. Any guesses to what happened next.
DING! DING! DING!
A trip to our favorite place on earth, the pediatrician's office.
My Dad and Sassy proceeded to school as planned, only after I gave Sassy an extra dose of love. She was so upset, sad, and worried. Poor thing. Gotta love when, as a Mom, you couldn't possibly make them feel any worse than they already do, right??
And, it was off to the Dr. Little A was acting perfectly fine at this point, and thoroughly enjoying her responsibility of wiping the blood off her face every time it dripped down with the wet wipe as we drove. An examination, some irrigation, and a steri-strip later... she was none the worse for wear.
Amazingly, her eye looks great. I was sure she's have a full-blown shiner after the way it swelled initially, but it really looks great. Now, she'll likely just have her first battle scar, thanks to her sister, with a funny story to accompany it!