Another Flesh Wound
Henry had yet another run-in with the front stairs last week. We were heading outside to plant some flowers and Henry stopped on the steps to tell the neighbor about his blue shovel. Apparently walking and talking at the same time was too much for toddler coordination to handle. It was one of those moments that passes in slow motion. I could see him going down and was half a second too slow to catch him. I scooped him up and he looked okay at first . . . and then I moved my hand off the back of his head and saw blood dripping down my arm and running down his neck.
He was too freaked out to get in the shower, so I had to bend him over the sink and rinse all the blood out of his hair with a cup. Once he was cleaned up I could see the cut was only maybe a third of an inch long. Head wounds bleed so much. At that point, Henry was totally fine other than being extremely angry that I left his shovel and flowers outside, but his head was still bleeding so I called Heidi the beloved housecall nurse. I was feeling pretty terrible that Heidi had to come back for yet another laceration until she pulled up her computer file list for her other Henry, who has 23 sheets for the past two years, to our Henry's four.
She immediately said she would staple the wound shut. Putting the staples in was far easier than stitches, but it is still terrible to watch your baby flail and scream. It was a good thing that Karl was home because I couldn't have handled Henry on my own. The downside is that I had to watch instead of holding him. There was a moment of gasping panic when he froze like a terrified little animal, and of course he doesn't really understand why the parents that he counts on to protect him are intentionally subjecting him to pain.
Heidi left us with instructions to keep him calm for a couple of days until the cut had closed. Calm. Right. Of course Henry was absolutely bonkers the next day. It was as though his physical ordeal had imbued him with a renewed passion for life that required him to expend every ounce of energy contained in his tiny body. I was literally pleading with him to watch Monsters, Inc. one more time, and all he wanted to do was leap off the furniture, play the pillows game (in which he tackles me while we each hold a throw pillow), and do somersaults. My god, child, YOU HAVE STAPLES IN YOUR HEAD. Stop doing somersaults!
I know staples aren't a big deal and they were much easier than stitches for this kind of injury, but the sight of that hard metal against his sweet fuzzy little head really got to me. Every time I saw them I got a slightly flush feeling. I also lay awake for two nights envisioning all the horrible things that could happen to my little boy.
I know we have a lifetime of bumps and cuts and breaks ahead of us, and I am resolutely in favor of raising independent, free-range kids. But it's still going to be hard to let my love go walking in the world on his own two wobbly feet.
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He was too freaked out to get in the shower, so I had to bend him over the sink and rinse all the blood out of his hair with a cup. Once he was cleaned up I could see the cut was only maybe a third of an inch long. Head wounds bleed so much. At that point, Henry was totally fine other than being extremely angry that I left his shovel and flowers outside, but his head was still bleeding so I called Heidi the beloved housecall nurse. I was feeling pretty terrible that Heidi had to come back for yet another laceration until she pulled up her computer file list for her other Henry, who has 23 sheets for the past two years, to our Henry's four.
She immediately said she would staple the wound shut. Putting the staples in was far easier than stitches, but it is still terrible to watch your baby flail and scream. It was a good thing that Karl was home because I couldn't have handled Henry on my own. The downside is that I had to watch instead of holding him. There was a moment of gasping panic when he froze like a terrified little animal, and of course he doesn't really understand why the parents that he counts on to protect him are intentionally subjecting him to pain.
Heidi left us with instructions to keep him calm for a couple of days until the cut had closed. Calm. Right. Of course Henry was absolutely bonkers the next day. It was as though his physical ordeal had imbued him with a renewed passion for life that required him to expend every ounce of energy contained in his tiny body. I was literally pleading with him to watch Monsters, Inc. one more time, and all he wanted to do was leap off the furniture, play the pillows game (in which he tackles me while we each hold a throw pillow), and do somersaults. My god, child, YOU HAVE STAPLES IN YOUR HEAD. Stop doing somersaults!
I know staples aren't a big deal and they were much easier than stitches for this kind of injury, but the sight of that hard metal against his sweet fuzzy little head really got to me. Every time I saw them I got a slightly flush feeling. I also lay awake for two nights envisioning all the horrible things that could happen to my little boy.
I know we have a lifetime of bumps and cuts and breaks ahead of us, and I am resolutely in favor of raising independent, free-range kids. But it's still going to be hard to let my love go walking in the world on his own two wobbly feet.
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