Busted

My mom card should be revoked. If my one real job is to protect this little man of mine, yesterday I failed.

We headed to the park to play away the afternoon, and as I chased Stan about and encouraged Charlie to climb up to the slide, bam! Feet slipped right out from under him and face planted firmly into the playscape. Scooping him up I said a quick prayer for no blood, but I obviously didn't get it in in time. His cry raged and blood gushed. F. I called our regular doctor and they directed me to Dell Children's. Double f.

 

We arrived at Dell and were pulled through the waiting rooms pretty quickly. They assured us they'd stitch him up and get him home ASAP. With a derivative of PCP pumping through his veins, the doctors put four stitches in his tiny lip, and we stood at the end of his bed helpless. Five hours later - wading through dinnertime and bedtime in a hospital bed...no bueno - we were homebound.

All night and all day today, I've replayed the moment. Replayed the series of events that led to us ending up at the playground that afternoon. Why was I in such a rush to get to there? Why did I encourage him to climb the stairs again? If he'd only drank a little more water, chased Stan, decided to swing, etc. etc. etc. Mom fail in a big way.

We learned a lot yesterday - Chuck's wildly tough, John and I fall into interesting roles in stressful situations, and friendship is sandwiches waiting on your doorstep when you get home too late from the hospital and popsicles, flowers, balloons, and Chuck's best girlfriend waiting to play when he got up from his nap. Lots of love surrounding this busted lip. Lots of love. Lots of regret. Today was a better day. Hoping tomorrow is too.