Yesterday was one of those Mondays that takes the prize for Mondaying so good it shames other Mondays. It was memorable enough to write down and bad enough that I needed to write it down.
It, however, really made me realize the awesomeness of my kids, whose bravery, strength and kindness left me astounded.
Our morning involved throwing, screaming and a poop puddle. After work and school, there was all the joy of screaming the whole way home in the middle of the after-school traffic rush. We had a relatively calm dinner, but we were all pretty tired and over it by the time my husband got home. He, having used grand intuition, brought me some chocolate and took the kids for a walk (Note: get you a man who can do both). So, I took my king size candy bar, my tired ass and my phone with the open Netflix app upstairs, because it was definitely an “Efff that, I’m eating chocolate” kinda day.
The peace, however, was short-lived as I heard the doorbell and welcomed my sweet, cranky babies ready to fight me to the death for every step of bedtime. We also needed stuff from COSTCO, leaving me to man the fort solo while my husband took care of this. Anyways, considering that the kids had stuffy noses, I decided to do what we always do when they’re sick: fill the bath just a bit, but run the shower so the steam could help with the congestion. I also decided to jump in because when you’re in a special needs household (1) there’s no such thing as privacy and (2) maximizing efficiency means everything.
So, my daughter and I jump into the bath/shower and my son is sitting on the toilet (this is totally normal btw). I keep the shower curtain open a bit so I can see him and repeatedly pop my head out to ask if he needs help. My daughter, being both incredibly sweet and a massive smart ass, also pops her head out to ask my son if he’s okay and to say “great job, buddy.” So, I tell her to be careful because the shower is slippery and the rubber mat is outside, but I honestly don’t think much of it because she often uses the shower like a big girl and is totally fine. I, then, drain the bath water because it’s getting cool and she just fills a little cup with water and pours its contents onto another cup, chill and charming as could be.
Then, as I turn to get something from the caddy, in a friggin’ thousandth of a second, she suddenly slips, comes down hard on the porcelain soap mount next to her, cracks it, and next thing I know, she’s on the floor of the bath and there’s blood everywhere. I pick her up and see exposed flesh next to her ear with blood gushing down to her collarbone (though I later find the wound is much smaller). I was afraid a vein or artery had been severed and had no time to inspect the wound. So I take her out in my arms, run to get my phone, race to my bedroom and find a clean bed sheet to press against her bloody little face.
My son, luckily, follows me into the bedroom and sits on the bed to polish off the king size chocolate bar I left moments before. So, here I am, buck naked, sitting on the floor with my toddler on my lap putting pressure on a gushing wound trying to call 911. The call goes through, I tell them the problem through bitter screams and my daughter’s flailing arms touch the phone’s screen ending the call. I manage to get them back, they tell me to not move and assure me they’re on the way. Within minutes, I hear the doorbell and yell that we’re upstairs. I guess the door was open, because suddenly, six firefighters are standing before naked me and my naked children and I’m trying my darnest to keep pressure on my daughter’s wound whilst trying to cover myself with a bloody bed sheet.
Fortunately, though we all feel awkward AF, one of them grabs the comforter and brings it over me. They grab my daughter and start checking her wound and her vitals and allow me the privacy to get decent. Thankfully, she’s ok, but I did have to take her to the ER to get stitches. The staff was incredibly helpful and professional, but given the nature of stitching up a 2 year old, the process took a while. So, with all the numbing agents, observation, calming and actual stitching, we were there until 1 a.m. It was exhausting, to say the least, but at the end, she’s safe and we made it past this.
All in all though, my children schooled me big time. My son stepped up, following directions and keeping his calm as his sister bled and screamed, his mother became a naked wreck and firefighters crowded his little house. My little girl, who is reckless, wild and sassy, kept (relatively) calm on my lap, listened and was so brave through the whole ordeal, that I really can’t believe she’s only two. Not only that, but the two of them comforted each other, making each other laugh and enjoying each other’s company. They held hands after the massive car tantrum without needing me to ask that they apologize. My son told me this morning that “baby had an ouchie, she went to the hospital” as he was brought to giggles by getting his little sister’s attention and getting her to giggle in return.
So it was like this, through poop puddles, blood and drama, that I saw my two children getting older and becoming pretty amazing human beings. It was like this that it became clear that they love one another and are the stronger for it.
And it was also like this that my soap mount broke, my wild child got her first set of stitches and the number of men who’ve seen me naked swiftly jumped from one to seven.