Oops
Sometimes I wish I could pay more attention to Abbie. Ever since the twins were born, Abbie ends up pushed to the side far too often, given a bowlful of crackers to keep happy as I have dishes to wash, diapers to change, and blogs to write. I don’t think she’s starved for attention since I still read several books a day to her, play with her in the park every day, and generally notice her diaper is poopy within an hour of her filling it. It’s probably best that I leave her to entertain herself so frequently so she doesn’t wind up like one of those weird, self-centered only children,* but I still wish I could carve out a little more Abbie time.
Mornings are usually not a good time for Abbie time. Between cleaning up after breakfast, keeping her brothers happy, and … actually those two activities fill the schedule between twin wake time, and twin naptime. After putting the boys down, I collapse into a child-weary heap while Abbie chases the dog around my exhausted body. I typically regain my strength in time to prepare lunch before the boys wake, restarting the process.
I enjoyed a treat the other morning. The boys must have done an outstanding job of entertaining themselves, or maybe Abbie threw fewer toddler sporks on the floor than usual leaving me fewer dishes to clean. Either way, I had a solid 15 minutes to spare before setting the boys down for their nap. I set the boys next to the basket o’ books, called Abbie over, and started some quality reading time.
When she was the boys’ age, we would spend long stretches nestled in the rocking chair, reading every book in her collection over and over again while I counted the seconds until her next naptime. Reading was one of the few activities that kept her happy at that age, with the others being eating and destroying books.
Now she has other activities to keep her entertained, and more sugary foods to eat. She doesn’t like to waste her time if we’re not actively reading. We made it through one book before I got distracted with a brother. Tory fell and bonked his nose on Abbie’s bed, drawing a little blood from one nostril. Abbie started scratching me to bring me back to her book. I warned her a couple times to stop scratching, but she continued. Finally I grabbed her hand off my leg, pulled her toward me, and told her in my most menacing voice to stop scratching. It got her attention, but as I pulled her hand toward me, I felt a pop.
Oops.
Abbie started screaming uncontrollably almost immediately. I think I bent her hand down at too forceful of an angle as I pulled her toward me. I tried to calm her with singing and rocking, but she kept screaming and clutching her hand. When I pried her good hand away for a closer look, the victimized hand dangled off the wrist like it was unable to support its own weight.
I gave Abbie some ibuprofen and loaded everybody up for a trip to the emergency room. Abbie’s wrist probably wasn’t broken, but it could have been dislocated. All three children screamed while I prepared for the journey, Abbie from the wrist injury, and the boys from their impending and delayed naptime.
Abbie started to calm down as I carried her into the hospital. My first real clue that she was okay was when tipped backward from my grasp, and grabbed my shirt tightly with both hands. She finally calmed down for good some time around the visit with the x-ray machine. The x-rays confirmed that she was fine, and since she was finally calm, they sent us home without actually doing anything to her, and just gave me the general “take it easy” advice. And I was sure someone was going to ask some pointed questions about how my daughter suffered an injury that I caused and why my infant son has a bloody nose.
Everything was fine the rest of the day. Abbie didn’t show any lingering effects of a wrist injury. The boys snuck in an adequate nap that morning. I made sure to carve out some quality time with Abbie, and everyone was as happy as usual. At least everyone was happy until we all simultaneously started coming down with colds that night.
* Like me.
Mornings are usually not a good time for Abbie time. Between cleaning up after breakfast, keeping her brothers happy, and … actually those two activities fill the schedule between twin wake time, and twin naptime. After putting the boys down, I collapse into a child-weary heap while Abbie chases the dog around my exhausted body. I typically regain my strength in time to prepare lunch before the boys wake, restarting the process.
I enjoyed a treat the other morning. The boys must have done an outstanding job of entertaining themselves, or maybe Abbie threw fewer toddler sporks on the floor than usual leaving me fewer dishes to clean. Either way, I had a solid 15 minutes to spare before setting the boys down for their nap. I set the boys next to the basket o’ books, called Abbie over, and started some quality reading time.
When she was the boys’ age, we would spend long stretches nestled in the rocking chair, reading every book in her collection over and over again while I counted the seconds until her next naptime. Reading was one of the few activities that kept her happy at that age, with the others being eating and destroying books.
Now she has other activities to keep her entertained, and more sugary foods to eat. She doesn’t like to waste her time if we’re not actively reading. We made it through one book before I got distracted with a brother. Tory fell and bonked his nose on Abbie’s bed, drawing a little blood from one nostril. Abbie started scratching me to bring me back to her book. I warned her a couple times to stop scratching, but she continued. Finally I grabbed her hand off my leg, pulled her toward me, and told her in my most menacing voice to stop scratching. It got her attention, but as I pulled her hand toward me, I felt a pop.
Oops.
Abbie started screaming uncontrollably almost immediately. I think I bent her hand down at too forceful of an angle as I pulled her toward me. I tried to calm her with singing and rocking, but she kept screaming and clutching her hand. When I pried her good hand away for a closer look, the victimized hand dangled off the wrist like it was unable to support its own weight.
I gave Abbie some ibuprofen and loaded everybody up for a trip to the emergency room. Abbie’s wrist probably wasn’t broken, but it could have been dislocated. All three children screamed while I prepared for the journey, Abbie from the wrist injury, and the boys from their impending and delayed naptime.
Abbie started to calm down as I carried her into the hospital. My first real clue that she was okay was when tipped backward from my grasp, and grabbed my shirt tightly with both hands. She finally calmed down for good some time around the visit with the x-ray machine. The x-rays confirmed that she was fine, and since she was finally calm, they sent us home without actually doing anything to her, and just gave me the general “take it easy” advice. And I was sure someone was going to ask some pointed questions about how my daughter suffered an injury that I caused and why my infant son has a bloody nose.
Everything was fine the rest of the day. Abbie didn’t show any lingering effects of a wrist injury. The boys snuck in an adequate nap that morning. I made sure to carve out some quality time with Abbie, and everyone was as happy as usual. At least everyone was happy until we all simultaneously started coming down with colds that night.
* Like me.
posted by Matt at
10:53 PM
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