My Poor Boy
Yesterday while at the YMCA, my little guy jumped (or maybe fell) off of a chair and onto the concrete floor. He split the back of his head open, so we bandaged him up and took him to Urgent Care for stitches. He thought all of this was pretty cool- at least until they had to numb the area. Then it became very traumatic. I had to have two people help me hold him still, and by the end of that he was so hysterical that they made me let go of him and stand across the room so they could bring in three guys to wrap him in a blanket and hold him down while the Dr stitched him up. He was screaming at the top of his lungs, pleading for me to come hold him, to make them let him go, to take him home. It was horrible and heartbreaking. At least I got to hold my little girl, who was pretty scared and crying. I was able to let her know that he wasn't in pain, just very upset. Still, it was not a day I care to go through again. It made me all too aware of how un-grown-up I am and how I can't protect my kids from everything. I wish I had six arms so I could hold them all at once.