So there we are, it’s Sunday evening and pizza left overs are warming up in the oven, because why not use the pizza from your daughters birthday party the day before, so you don’t have to cook?!
My boys are playing a game of war (the card game, not actually fighting each other while acting out war… Shocking I know, right?!) Then all of a sudden a big thud and then the cry of my middle child fills the air. I jump up immediately (okay, maybe not as quick as I should have, but friends this kid gets hurt every 20 minutes so my response time may has slowed down a bit). But I did jump up rather quickly to find him by the kitchen table. I walk over calmly, because you know… I am totally super mom in time of crisis. The kids choke, I’m the one there making sure the food comes out. The kids get a sliver I am the one to fish it out with the tweezers. They fall off their bike I run to their rescue. So as I approach him I can almost feel my super-mom cape come to surface…
Until he turns his head. There was blood.
Everywhere.
Super mom to the rescue?! Not.even.close.
You know how you’re supposed to keep calm, and relaxed and not panic the kid? That’s what us moms do right??
Yeah well I pretty much did the exact OPPOSITE of that. Just picture jumping, tears, and almost throwing up…. Yep. That was me. Friends, I totally freaked out. I was the farthest from calm and cool as it comes.
Clearly not my proudest moment as a mom.
My oldest son was right behind me having the same reaction, crying for his brother to be okay.
My husband runs in and starts applying a towel to his head (because as I said, I totally failed. Like the freezing up, couldn’t move, thought I was gonna puke kind of failed.) My poor sweet baby boy was crying because it hurt and he was scared.
And then in walks my three year old daughter. She looks around, goes and gets her stethoscope and comes over to her brother, puts it on his chest and says “it’s okay, I’m going to fix you.” At this point I clearly know who the nurse or doctor is going to be in the family (hint: it’s not me!)
And I wish I could say it got better from there, but it didn’t. We got to urgent care (with 4 minutes to spare before they closed) and I told my husband I would take care of the paper work while he sat with my son, because ya know, I am the queen of paper work. I am type A all the way and I am usually pretty detailed oriented and organized.
Can I just stop here to paint the full picture of this moment:
We walk in, my sons shirt covered in blood, with blood still pouring out of his head. My husband leisurely walking in like this is an every day event. And then there’s me. Trying to keep my cool, adjusting my oh so tangled and blood filled super-mom cape (figuratively speaking). I get to the window and the not so friendly receptionist behind the window asks why we are there to which I kind of stare at her blankly… Like umm hello? Do you not see the blood spraying out of my child’s head?!
But I appease her and go on to explain what happened (in too much detail I am sure…) Without much response (or sympathy for that matter) she goes on to ask me for his insurance card and his birthdate. I then proceed to fumble through my wallet looking for his insurance card, meanwhile dropping my wallet all over the floor while she stares back at me with zero expression on her face. I finally find our card (on the oh so gross, germ infested ground may I add), I hand it to her and then tell her my sons birthdate.
Except I tell her the wrong date.
I then proceed to fill out all his paperwork with the wrong birthdate on it. It was like my mind went completely blank. I could not think. It was like my brain as I had once known it was no where to be seen. I thought I was doing okay until just as I was about to turn everything in I realized the date was wrong on all the papers and sheepishly went through and crossed off the date and wrote the correct one explaining to the receptionist I was really nervous and wrote his brothers birth year down on all the papers. She didn’t look amused and then pointed out I had also given her the wrong birth year when checking him in. At this point I am pretty sure my super-mom cape had shriveled up and fallen on the floor.
We then get to the back into our own little room where the doctor comes in and tells us he is going to have to put staples in our child’s head, to which my husband shrugs and says okay and to which I must have turned green because the nurse then asked me to leave the room.
TO LEAVE THE ROOM.
Me.
His momma.
The one who was supposed to be super-mom for him in these moments.
With no words to be found, I turned, and walked out of the room willing myself not to cry. I sat down in what felt like the chair of shame. You know the one they leave outside the rooms for parents… Parents like me. The ones who “can’t hang”. Yep. That was me.
I then hear the doctor say “Wow, you did great buddy, we are all done”
I couldn’t have been out of the room more than a minute. What?! No tears? No screaming? He didn’t make a sound! My husband reported to me he barely even flinched! And I had missed it. My baby boy being so brave, as I sat in the corner exchanging my super-mom cape for a dunce cap.
I guess we can’t win them all, right Momma’s?! I learned that day that I will pass my super cape to my husband for the bloody messes. I clearly wasn’t cut out for that part of the job. And he will gladly pass back that same cape to me for the stomach bug messes. Now that’s what I call team work. 😉
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