We were at my mom’s house. I was making lunch in the kitchen, my mom was in the back of the house and big boy was playing with the dogs on the living room floor. Both my mom and I enter the living room just in time to see him straddle the back of Indie (my mom’s standard poodle). As I’m crossing the room to lift him off the back of the dog, Indie bolts upright sending him flying backwards. All I really remember is seeing the bottom of his little feet flying though the air and the sound of his deafening cry as the back of his head hits the china cabinet behind him. I scoop him up off the floor but when I pull my hand away from his head I see that it is covered in blood. My paniced eyes lock on my mom’s face and I say, “Mom; there’s blood.”
“It’s o.k sweetie, he’s going to be fine. Stay calm”, she says to me. (Just as a side note: isn’t it amazing how your instinct to comfort and protect your child never subsides. I’m holding my own bleeding son in my arms as my mom is reassuring me. To this day if I’m riding in the car with her, and she stops suddenly, she will still throw her arm across my chest!)
We take him to the sink, wipe away the blood and realize that we are going to need to take a trip the the E.R.
Big tears and whimpering continue on the car ride to Doctor’s Medical Center, but by the time we check in and sit in the waiting room he has recovered and is laughing and teasing baby brother.
Daddy shows up just as we are getting ready to put two staples in his head. The nurse has numbed the cut and in a matter of 10 seconds the Doctor has put two staple over the cut. He was so brave and he charmed the nurses with his smiles.
For the next two days he wanders around pointing to his head and saying, “No No Indie- head hurt – No No Indie!” As he says this he frowns and shakes his head.