I woke up yesterday determined. At 7am I put on a sweatshirt, stepped outside, and did a complete overhaul on my car (minus the detail work and maintenance). Cleaned out all the trash (and recycle), emptied out clothes, toys, gadgets, receipts from gas. I even managed to empty out the trunk so the double jogging stroller would fit. We tend to leave our strollers out in the elements through the winter and let them get ruined... but I'm not letting this bad boy get rusty...Once I was done with the Camry overhaul, I headed inside to eat breakfast, which was delayed about 20 minutes by my perfectionistic need to straighten up before the day begins. I fed Ana and took a shower, and by the time I was out of the shower, Ian was up. It really was clockwork.
The plan for my day really was simple: drop Ian off with my Mom, take Ana to get groceries in Bellingham for the cafe, meet up with parents at airport to say goodbye to my California Grandparents, then head home for Ian's nap and REST.
INSTEAD...
In a mad hurry, I had gotten myself, Ian and Ana ready. It seriously took 10 minutes, and who knows how that happened. As I walked out holding Ana, a diaper bag, my tote bag, and keys, Ian dragged behind carefully inching down the cement steps outside our apartment. I hurried down to the car to get situated, then planned on promptly running back up the steps to grab Ian and strap him into the car.
Ian had stopped mid-way on the platform that divides the two sections of our stairs, and was yelling, "Nooo!" This is funny to him, but not so much to me. And I knew there was no chance of simply asking him to walk down himself. So I headed back toward the stairs, and started walking up to grab him. Instead of getting the chance to simply pick the kid up, something else happened.
As I stepped up onto the first step, Ian dove forward, from seven stairs up.
Literally, he dove forward. Not "up" like kids do off a diving board, but "forward." Before I knew it, I was juggling a 31 pound child in my arms, trying to figure out what part I was holding and what part had hit the solid cement steps beneath my feet. And part of me was thankful I hadn't fallen over onto my skull in the process, considering my post C-Section, no-abs condition.Ian wailed as I set him down on the bottom step to check him out. Scrapes on the knees, check. Bones in place, check. He kept saying "knee" so at least I knew where it hurt. He checked out well enough at this point to throw him in the car and continue on my journey. I took him to see Daddy at the cafe before heading out, and this kid literally did not want to walk. If I set him down, he wailed, and walked with his knees bent, and without really putting pressure on his left leg.
My battle as a parent was, do I cancel all my plans to take him to the doctor, or do I keep going? I was going to Bellingham partially as a favor for Aaron, who had a busy day ahead of him. I decided to keep going.
So I dropped Ian off at my parents, and took off for Bellingham. Half-way through Cash & Carry, I got a call from my Mom. "I think you should schedule an appointment for Ian," she said. "He may need an x-ray." As it turned out, Ian really was refusing to put any weight on his left leg. And when he did, it was definitely a limp.
The next hour and a half consisted of rushing to Costco, stuffing even more groceries in the car (be reminded, I had put the double jogger in there, so I really was STUFFING the groceries in), rushing back to Blaine, ordering my lunch over the phone, unloading the frozen and refrigerated goods at the cafe, rushing BACK to Bellingham inhaling a turkey sandwich, sitting at the airport nursing Ana in the hot car, stuffing Ian, Ian's carseat, and my Mom into the car, and taking off for the Walk-In clinic... by Costco. I went in to the clinic only to find out they don't take my insurance, then went to the clinic on Northwest Avenue only to find out the exact same thing. I sat in my car frustrated, on hold with Ian's doctor's office, waiting to schedule an appointment out at the Lynden campus, ready to cry. (I also wanted to cry because I had pants and a long-sleeve shirt on, and it was friggin hot.) Yes, I said friggin.
THEN, after scheduling a 3:40pm appointment in Lynden, we went back to Blaine, changed clothes, fed Ana, and headed out to Lynden. I got the "silly mom, stop worrying" look from the doctor, who explained he had no localized pain, but gave me no solid answer as to WHAT Ian hurt. He said to wait it out.
Still sick to my stomach from thinking Ian was "broken," I headed home with the peanut gallery (only no one was laughing). We got back to my apartment and stuck Ian on the couch, thinking we'd just let him get up if he wanted to walk.
Ian proceeded to hop onto his feet off the couch to play with his cars, and the rest is history. He was actually jumping and laughing by the time my parents left.
I sat there for the next hour before Aaron got home, wondering what had just happened.
My day ended with a post-dinner run to the gas station to buy a cheap Zinfandel to accompany the dark chocolate truffles I got for my birthday the week before. We tried to watch Dancing with the Stars only to yet again confirm its a stupid show (sorry to those of you who enjoy it), then went to bed exhausted.
So the moral of the story is: start your day off with the Zinfandel.
