How to send your child to the ER and feel good as a result!

We're on the living room floor, rough-housing and generally being silly. Princess Persistent and Darling Boy are taking turns playing "let's tackle daddy", despite Veronica's entreaties that we stop since it's nearing the kids bedtime and they really need to settle down. PP escapes my grasp, moves to run away, and I gently give her a push on the shoulder.

Forgetting, of course, that gentle to a 195 lb man is a little different than to a 40 lb 3 yr old.

She loses her balance, trips over a throw pillow on the floor, and goes face first into the corner of the coffee table.

Immediately, the crying starts and by the time she stands up and looks at mean old dad, the rivulet of blood has run from the corner of her left eye all the way down to the collar of her pajamas. But facial cuts can bleed pretty bad and I'm not too worried. I pull her close and work on calming her down while heading to the bathroom to assess the damage and staunch the bleeding. I get a close look and turn to Veronica, who has joined us by now, saying "So, who wants to take her to the ER, you or me?" There is a nice, deep split just to the outside edge of her left eye-brow that if it was elsewhere on her body we could probably deal with ourselves. But this is our pretty little princesses face! Veronica says that she'll take her and I can work on getting DB to bed.

You wanna know how much of a trooper my girl is? They get to the ER, decide she'll need 2-3 stitches and apply some lidocaine cream to numb the area. This needs about 30 minutes to take effect, so Veronica cuddles PP in her arms while they wait. And PP falls asleep. And stays asleep with the physician puts in 3 stitches! And continues to sleep for the trip out to the car, the drive home, getting carried into the house and all through the night!

Isn't she cute? [Yes, I took a picture of the damage I caused!]


12 days later, it's time to take her to the pediatrician to have the stitches removed and due to work schedules, I take her. Of course, before we get there I coach PP that "My daddy pushed me" may not be the best answer when the doctor asked what happened. No need to get child protective services involved!

The doc and I make small talk while he's looking at how the wound is healing and I'm telling him what happened. And no, I didn't sugarcoat the story!

God bless him, you know what his response was to my story?

"It's not the kids that get the occasional stitches or broken bone that I worry about. It's the kids who go through childhood without those little injuries that worry me. They're not having fun!"

What a wonderful attitude to have. And exactly what I needed to hear!!

What Have I Forgotten?

You know that feeling that you have forgotten something, but can not put your finger on what that ‘something’ is?

No?

Have you forgotten?

Forgotten that feeling of phantom forgetfulness?

Well, I haven’t. It is a regular phenomenon here in the household of Single Parent Dad.

What is worse is when you think that you have remembered what it is you were labouring over, only to discover, that actually it is in excess to the thing that initially sent your mind into frustrating numbness.

I must be pregnant.

Oh, forgot, that default dubious excuse is the sole reserve of the fairer sex.

At the end of last week, well nearly the end (my son finishes nursery on a Thursday), we were on our walk home when the eerie feeling of neglect consumed my tiny mind.

Child – Check.
Child’s coat – Check.
Child’s hi-vis – Check.
Child’s bag – Check.
Child’s nursery output for the day – Check.
Letters/ Invites/ Invoices – Check.
House keys – Check.
Child’s lunch bag, and remains of uneaten contents – Missing. And therefore left at nursery to rot over the extended weekend.

Nice.

Not a problem though, as I get my son to mix cold packed lunches with the hot dinners the neighbouring school can provide. Not literally you understand, but different meal types for different days of the week.

But then, being a bit simple, I do a lot of my thinking out loud, and Junior discovered that his lunch bag had been left in the nursery’s corridor.

Ridiculous inanimate-object-of-absolutly-no-importance-until-mentioned-crying-over ensued.

The thought of entrusting his mini-cooling zip-up to his nursery for a few days was simply too much.

But with us due to go swimming, and to visit the chip shop on our way home, he was quickly consoled and the truck-adorned-sandwich-holder forgotten.

And it stayed that way, for both of us, until our return to nursery yesterday morning, when that feeling of not ticking all the boxes returned to my highest body part.

I twittered about forgetting, forgetting.

YES.I.AM.THAT.INTERESTING.

But, while quelling my Douglas Quaid feelings temporarily, I still had not bottomed-out my current to-do list.

I had forgotten the generous invite to blog here, an imposter amongst the Hot Dads of the web.

A feat I have now managed to remember to do.

Surely, at the cost of something else.

And The Champeen Is....

Okay, so I suck at sports. Can't really throw a baseball for love or money. Football? Well, sometimes I can get it to sort of spiral when I throw it. Basketball? No, I don't got game. Hockey? Pffft. I grew up in southern Virginia; hockey was a word usually preceded by the word "bull". As in "Bull hockey", a 'clean' way for us kids to say "Bullshit".

And that's okay. My daughter hasn't yet shown an interest in sports, not much anyway. She likes soccer a little. Which is good, because that's about the only sport I have any skill in whatsoever. Even that's questionable; David Beckham I am not. Although from a certain angle, I suppose I look good in just my underwear. But the Wee Lass does like the occasional kickabout, and she has her Dora the Explorer soccer ball for us to use.

I have discovered one activity in which I kick some serious ass. HehHeh. That's right, the new World Champion (or at least, the Champion of Gumbostan), ladies and gentlemen, Irish Gumbo RULES in....

"Hungry, Hungry Hippos".

BOOO-YAHHHH! 3 out of 3 in the Cage Match with Wee Lass tonight!

I do have a question, though. Is it wrong to do the Victory Booty Dance and shout "In your face!" to a four-year old? Not that I did that, just wonderin'...

Posted By Irish Gumbo