Forget the instruction manual; kids should come with a defibrillator

Oh, internets! Since last I waxed prosaically at you, I have developed eleventy hundred new grey hairs.

Alvie Bean – my child, my delight, the light of my life – is trying to kill me.

Seriously.

I know not why he has decided to embark upon this campaign of slow torture that will inevitably lead to a fatal heart attack, but I’m thinking of getting one of these. (Also, how crazy is it that you can just buy a defibrillator at Amazon. Answer: Very crazy, but also strangely awesome.)

A week ago last Friday, the Bean and I were at the park. I took every Friday off work in September to enjoy Bean time before he starts full-time care on 10/1. So, mid-morning, we took off. We were on a mission to find new shoes (check!) because his feet are growing at a much faster rate than the rest of him. We had a wonderful time. He discovered the exciting world of the merry-go-round.

A Wee Merry Man! (All in green, too, as is appropriate.)

A Wee Merry Man! (All in green, too, as is appropriate.)

 

In addition to the exciting merry-go-round, there is also a slide! Alvie loves the slide. He loves to climb up, up, up and then turn around giggle his way back down. We are going to have a heck of a time with the rules of Chutes and Ladders should we ever decide to play.

So, up and down. Up and down. So much fun.

About five minutes after that heart-warming action flick, some Big Boys (you know, all of about 6) came over and started climbing up & down the little monky-bar-like thingies to the left of screen. Yeah. Fun, right?

I was standing maybe a couple of feet away from Mr. Bean, and he looked at those boys, looked at that first rung, and took a step.

And of course, did not show off skills well beyond his not-quite-18-month-old self. He didn’t quite reach the first step with his foot. He did, however, manage to reach it with his head! So, partial win?

He tumbled to the ground (bark) and cried. And so did I. Poor little pumpkin. The older boys were yelled at by their authority figures for pushing down babies (a charge they rightly denied vehemently). I scooped up my injured Bean and tried to decide if we were going to walk back home or take the longer route via ER and ambulance.

I almost went the 911 route when I saw his little injuries.

Ouchies.

Ouchies.

 

But, in the end, he calmed down and didn’t seem to have any cognitive issues. In fact, the only problem was that I thought this was cause to leave the park, and he thought a couple more times up & down the slide would be a better end to our outing.

We went home, and other than a tiny shiner, he was fine. I still, however, clutch my non-existent pearls in horror every time I recall the incident.

We moved on, though… We got through an entire weekend and a few week days before he tried, once again, to off me.

Last Wednesday evening, we were playing outside, getting as dirty as humanly possible. Alvie was walking up & down the two outside steps, which I found muy impressive. The minute I got my camera, he did stop cooperating, but eventually I was able to get the small diva to perform.

Soon enough, it was time to go inside and have some dinner. Alvie objected, as he was quite full of dirt, thankyouverymuch, and would prefer to stay outside. The architect helped him walk up the significantly trickier back stairs to the house, and Alvie did his best to thwart the efforts by suddenly gaining a great deal of mass.

When we got inside, Mr. Bean commenced crying. At first, we believed the tears were a result of the cruel tyranny of parents who insist that the children eat and don’t play in traffic (at least not unsupervised). I then hypothesized that it might be that he was hungry. Problem solving!

I served up the Bean’s dinner and put him in his chair.

Then I noticed that our child, who shows a mild preference for his right hand, was eating left-handed. And that his right arm was hanging like a limp noodle arm, an arm that has been deboned, if you will. Touching the arm caused the crying to resume.

And, because I am a brilliant person, I surmised that Something was wrong.

So, I called my mother. She is not only a nurse, but she also teaches pediatric nursing! The fact that she’s 1500 miles away is no barrier to all the random questions I make her answer about my child’s health. I’m pretty sure she only puts up with me because I have her sole grandchild.

ANYWAY – after a couple of questions, she phone diagnosed him with a dislocation, and we locked up the house and headed for Baby’s First ER visit.

He was a tiny sad sack the whole way. His piteous tears and adorable face charmed the ER staff (of course), and we were in pretty quickly. The MA suggested nursemaid’s elbow and reassured us that it was pretty common. The nurse came in to do vitals, and Alvie was so excited about the blood pressure beeping that he twisted around and put that elbow back in place all by himself.  After that, he was fine. Of course, we’d already gotten a bracelet, and so couldn’t sneak out and pretend it hadn’t happened (looking forward to that bill!), so we stayed, played with the TV remote (Alvie), and were impatient (me & the architect).

I have asked him to please try not to kill me again for the next few weeks – at least not until I can get a hair appointment to cover up all of these brand new gray hairs I’m sporting.

He refused to make any guarantees.

Relax mom, it's just yogurt.

Relax mom, it’s just yogurt.

 

 

One response to “Forget the instruction manual; kids should come with a defibrillator

  1. Ah, that’s just the first of many visits to the ER my amiga. It’s part of the package, just periodically throw a $20 into the therapy jar and don’t beat yourself up. 🙂