What A Day

I am beyond exhausted as I'm sitting down to write this blog post. I'm writing this one because I need to get it off my chest and move on. I know I'm being such a drama queen, but nonetheless...

This afternoon, about thirty minutes before I needed to leave for class, I had asked my husband to watch the little one so that I could prep and get my backpack and everything together. (That's right. I'm a grown woman, and I have a backpack.)

I had just sat down to my computer in the playroom, when I heard it: the loudest, most awful-sounding thud that a mother can ever hear. I knew before my husband ever yelled at me that it was bad.

"He caught the corner of the door!" I could hear the fear and panic in my husband's voice.

I literally threw my chair backwards and flew out into the hallway. My son was in my husband's arm. He was crying so hard that I was afraid he would have a breath-holding spell (he's never had one, but it's one of my big fears).

I grabbed my son and held him close to my chest.

"You have to look at it! Look at him!"

For the first time in my life, I understood that fear of "I didn't want to look." In fact, to be honest, I was amazed he was conscious. Of course, I had only heard the thud, but still I was amazed.

I pulled him away from my chest to inspect his head, and burst into sobs. I never cry, but I was pretty sure this was bad. He had a one-and-a-half inch indentation in his head. I was crying so hard that I can't remember a time I've cried that hard.

I ran to the phone to call my parents. My dad is a neonatologist and my mom is a nurse practitioner. I nearly always call them first.

I sobbed to my mom, and she said, "I think he's fine, but I'll let you talk to your dad."

My dad agreed, but offered to come over. My response was, "Yes. Now."

During the time it took for my dad to come over, I seriously considered getting into the car and driving to the emergency room. It started to swell--not very badly. At least the ghastly indentation was gone.

My dad, true to form, came in all smiles, scooped the little one up (who, by this time, was babbling on and on with his usual "Hey-yeah's" and "Dada's"), looked him over, and said, "He's fine. This happens all the time with babies. He's just going to have a big bruise."

And again, I collapsed in tears. Beyond relieved.

Needless to say, this afternoon was terrible, horrible, no good, and very bad. But I am so grateful that my precious, perfect son is okay. Also, on a side note, in case you're wondering, baby craniums are really strong.