So when Captain Destructo was born, intellectually I knew that someday she would get hurt. Simply considering this fact boggled my mind and caused my post-partum eyes to fill with tears (or maybe that was from the drugs). Sure enough, 2 weeks later I went to get her from her crib and discovered one of her beautiful blue eyes was sealed shut with weird eye goop, later determined to be pink eye. Fast forward 16 months, we have weathered our share of stomach bugs, RSV, bronchitis, teething, and 2 cases of viral pharyngitis. All of this was small potatoes for the trauma that we endured over the weekend.
I put Captain Destructo to bed early and began my usual nighttime routine of mainlining chocolate popsicles while watching The Office. Captain began screaming bloody murder, like "something's wrong", not like "I dropped my Grover." I sprinted into the room to discover her laying face down on the floor screaming hysterically(note-she sleeps in a crib normally. Not on the floor). Repeating "it's Ok, it's Ok" (and still holding half of a popsicle) I checked her over and figured she was probably ok. Scrape on the chin but otherwise fine. I put her down to try and figure out how to jerry-rig the crib to keep her from scaling it again when she started screaming again. Trying to crawl was causing her pain, which my Spider Sense determined warranting a trip to the ER. Many songs, snacks, tears, and one blown up latex glove puppet later, it was discovered that she had fractured her wrist.
Now my gorgeous girl is wearing a freakishly large splint, to be replaced by a cast at a later date. And I, who let her fall, have been asked roughly 1.7 million times by strangers what happened to her arm, you horrible mother? (Funniest story...a little girl said "but when will her arm grow back?") She is suffering through Texas heat by playing in the sprinkler with a grocery bag around her arm, but she is still smiling and running like a crazy fool. Which can only lead to more falls, I'm sure.
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