I think Charlotte was 3 years old before she had her first ER visit. She was running in a park and had picked up a stick, and as if in slow motion, she fell on it putting it through her lip and sending her to the hospital. It was pretty much horrifying and I had to walk out of the room as 3 full grown adults had to hold her down so a Dr could dig bits of stick out of her mouth. Thankfully my husband is so much stronger than I am when it comes to the kids. A little one’s first hospital visit can be a scary time for parents and children.
So last week when I was in the bathroom gathering laundry and I heard Phoenyx cry out in horror, I turned around and saw the whole scene at once. He had, in the 20 seconds I left him in the playroom to walk to my bathroom, found the most dangerous toy his sister owns, put it in his mouth, took off running, and feel straight on it. By the grace of God it didn’t go down his throat, but it did push up through the roof of his mouth and was POURING blood. Once I managed to calm him down a tad and take a look I knew we had to go to the ER. He had skin on the roof of his mouth hanging down and ugg. Just ugg.
I had to run next door cause I couldn’t put P down and I couldn’t find my car keys. I needed them to hold him while I ran back in and found them. Things are never where they are supposed to be around here.
I called daddy and he met me at the ER.
Few hours later (and pretty much while they ask you every question in the book and make you start to wonder if they are going to call CPS on you) he was cleared to go home with advice that stitches would be worse than letting him heal naturally and if he had any more trouble to follow up with the pedi.
While waiting he started feeling well enough to wander around and try to visit the other people there…
SO that is it…our first ER visit down.
Of course since that moment he has managed to run into my desk with his eye, find the corner of a wall with his face, fall down on the ground, give himself a partial black eye and also get his hand burned.
I swear this child may be the death of me.
Has having a baby always been like this and I just blacked out the memories? Or is P just “special”.