supermom

I don't think of myself as supermom.  I am the mom who firmly holds my kids down to get their shots (or any of the other random medical tests they have had to go through).  I am the mom who tells my boys they are fine when they fall.  I don't think that takes any big talent.  Apparently I am wrong though. 

I get annoyed when we go for well visits to the doctors and the nurse doesn't want to let me hold my kids.  I once complained to my best friend about this.  I thought I'd get her sympathy because she is a mom and has had to hold her kids down for stitches before, instead the nurse got her sympathy because my friend  is also a pediatric nurse.  She informed me of how often a parent says they will hold their child and then in their own fear of hurting the child, they don't hold tight enough and people do get hurt.  Almost always the child when they jerk gets hurt and often the parent "holding" the child and sometimes the nurse administering the shot gets kicked or even worse gets stuck with the child's needle. 

Ok, so at least I now get the perspective of the nurses at our doctors office.  I understand how they can be skeptical of my abilities to hold these children who are almost stronger than me.  I've come to accept it and I know that unless it's a nurse who has been around long enough to see me hold them for shots, blood draws and catheters, that I will have to insist that we will be ok. 

Well, I didn't realize the day would come when I would have to assure police officers, paramedics and most of the front end staff at Hubby's work that I was ok.  Today that day came.  The kids and I bummed a ride from my dad to go see Hubby at work so we could have breakfast with him on his birthday.  It was a nice breakfast which was supposed to be followed with coffee and a park date with a friend.  We were standing at the front near the drinking fountain when my youngest, who was in the cart, said, "W, look at the police officers!"  W turned his body to look and his shoes slipped and his feet just fell out from under him. He hit the front of his head on the drinking fountain on the way down and then the back of his head on the floor.  It was LOUD.

As the police officer helped W stand up, his head started gushing blood.  I'm not talking a little bit of blood.  I'm talking blood spurting out of his forhead and blood going everywhere.  It was in his hair, covering his face, on his clothes, on his leg and foot and even on the bottom of his shoes.  Blood all over the floor, all over the drinking fountain and a nice little trail of blood leading to the office where they had us sit down.  The officers radioed for help and informed me that the paramedics were on the way.

I guess everyone expected me to freak out.  I was asked countless times if I was ok.  I was fine.  I just went into mom mode and took care of the situation.  I saw my husbands boss standing near enough to hear me so I told him to walkie Hubby and let him know W was hurt and to meet us at the front.  I got the officer who was trying to manage the initial bleeding some wet paper towels.  Another woman who works there asked if I wanted her to stand with the younger two.  I left them in her capable hands and went with my bleeding child to the back office where they could have him sit until the paramedics arrived.  I talked to W and helped him stay calm.  I talked to the officers and the managers who came in to check on us.  I did what I needed to do. 

But every few seconds someone was asking, "How's mom doing? You ok, Mom?"  I finally told the officers, "I'm fine. It's just blood, he's the one who's not ok. I can handle this, just take care of him."  Then I had to tell the paramedics the same thing.  I had to tell countless employees the same thing.  I was amazed that so many people were amazed that I didn't fall apart.  Now honestly, what good would that have done anyway?  So the paramedics got the bleeding under control and told us to take W in for stitches. We were given the option of going by ambulance or driving him ourselves.  They recommended the nearby hospital.

We did drive him ourselves and took him to the pediatricians office instead of the hospital.  He was so brave, barely cried at all.  The doctor said it was a clean cut and could be glued.  The most tears of the whole event were shed when they had to use iodine to clean it out before using the dermabond to glue it. Even the pediatrician was asking if I was ok!

So my son has a glued gash on his head.  The paramedics said he looks like Harry Potter and will probably have a cool scar.  He liked that.  It isn't lightning bolt shaped but still......  He called his best friend to assure that he was ok.  The recount from his perspective was cute.  "Yeah, I'm ok now.  It doesn't hurt as bad as it did when I hit it.  It's actually not that bad, today I got to watch a new movie with Grammy and then later my favorite movie too! Yeah, that sounds like fun.  'Cept I'm not allowed on monkey bars for a whole week."  ADORABLE!

He has a decent bump under that purplish glued cut.  He also has a pretty decent headache and has been on ibprofen all day.  He is going to be fine.  I am fine also.  Apparently according to the officers and  employees, I am super-mom.  I don't feel like it.  I just did what needed to be done, but I guess a lot of people don't do it as calmly as I did.  Who knew?  I have a hidden talent ;-)  W is nearly 8.  I am the mom of all boys and it has taken nearly 8 years into my parenting journey for any of my kids to have a cut bad enough to warrant stitches or glue. I personally think that is something to be proud of!  Maybe that's why I didn't freak out; I was thinking, "Wow, I can't believe it's taken this long with these monkeys for someone to need the paramedics called and for someone to need stitches!"

I did however hit Starbucks twice today.  See, I do show stress, I drink more coffee!  :-)