While we've had two ER visits over the course of being parents - and a couple of stomach viruses, a freaky vaccine reaction/infection, ear tube surgery and a bout with pneumonia - we've been relatively unscathed (knocking on wood and anything else that will prevent Murphy for unleashing his Law after uttering that) in the illness/injuries department.
(Thank heaven for little girls).
In fact, until Saturday, we had not had a single incident that involved blood. The ONE bodily fluid that doesn't make my toes curl and it doesn't make an appearance in Life as a Parent for almost 4 years.
We've now been initiated.
It wasn't a beautiful day on Saturday, but it was warm, so when Woodstock asked to watch a movie after General Conference was over, I told her she had to get some exercise first. Two minutes later she sailed by me, wearing snow boots with her capris, and right out the back door. She ran laps around the yard for almost 15 minutes. Still not worn out, she begged me to play tag with her. It's not that I don't like tag, it's that every step I take lately involves shooting pain down my left leg - still, it turns out I can almost out-run a pre-schooler. Almost.
Tag lasted long enough for Pebbles to wake up from her nap, at which point she demanded to go "Ow-sigh" (outside) with "Gee Gee" (the name which Woodstock has instructed Pebbles to use). Of course, Pebbles is not the most stable on her feet, particularly on uneven ground when wearing shoes.
Blood. Curdling. Scream.
And then the dreaded silence that lets you know all is not well.
Pebbles had lost her footing and tumbled chin-first onto the patio. I picked her up - her chin was scraped up and blood was coming from somewhere.
Woodstock raced over and calmly asked what was going on. I said, "Pebbles fell. Her mouth is bleeding, so I need to take her in and look at her."
Absolute hysteria ensued. Woodstock - the unharmed older sister, dissolved into hysterics. "Mom!" She yelled (even though I was standing right next to her) "Pebbles is BLEEDING. Call an amb-lee-ance (ambulance). We hafta go to the hospital." At which point she raced by me and into the house.
I scooped up Pebbles and took her into the bathroom - only to discover the light source was too poor to ascertain exactly where on her face the blood was coming from. I grabbed some sterile gauze pads, the hydrogen peroxide and relocated to Pebbles to the dining room table (under our bright-as-noonday new light fixture - hooray for energy-sucking light sources).
That, apparently, was bad news for Woodstock who, no longer crying, yelled in a panicky voice, "Mom! You're not a doctor! She's BLEEDING!" Thank you for stating the blatantly obvious.
**I should note here again that blood is the one bodily fluid that neither grosses me out nor makes me panicky. I may be high-strung but am a very useful person to have around in emergencies or when someone is bleeding.**
After taking a look around (as well as one could while wrestling a 23-pound crying, squirmy child with razor-sharp teeth poised to chomp down immediately on whatever dared venture near the rapidly swelling lip), I phoned Himself to get his opinion on my assessment. (Himself has a knack for missing nearly every dramatic moment that happens - he was at work yesterday). We agreed that watching it and icing it was the best course. If it stopped bleeding, fabulous. If not, well, a visit to the doctor was in order - sans the ambulance Woodstock was still insisting we needed.
Of course, a 19-month-old, a mouth injury and ice do not go well together, so we determined a Popsicle would be the best remedy for both the crying and the swelling. I got off the phone.
"Dad says she needs a Popsicle," I remarked to Woodstock - hoping she'd give Himself more credit than she was giving me. After all, he's not a doctor either.
"A Popsicle?" Her panicky voice vanished. She sounded downright hopeful.
Then, her sister's ailments and her rallying cry for an amb-lee-ance forgotten, Woodstock asked, "Can I have one too?"
Funny how suddenly her sister's still bleeding lip took the backseat to the mention of frozen sugary ice water.
As it turns out, Popsicles cure more than just bleeding lips. They also cure hysterical pre-schoolers.
Lesson learned - keep the freezer stocked. (And don't let Pebbles near concrete).
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