Wait, I had better back up.
My son got smacked in the face with a baseball yesterday. This started an entire ordeal.
My most athletic son loves to play sports. He has played soccer, football, basketball and baseball. A new season rolls around and he wants to know what he is playing this time.
I worried a lot when he started tackle football last summer. You hear so much about injuries and concussions from that sport. But he made it through the season unscathed.
He played basketball in the fall. And there was this one time where he fell on the court and someone landed on top of his head. That one was a little scary. But he shook it off.
Now it is time for baseball. The season hasn’t even officially started yet. He is just practicing with his team and coaches. So during one of the drills, he was playing short stop. The ball was hit to him and he was to stoop down and scoop the ball with his glove. Easy enough.
Except at the last second, the ball decided to take a hop. Right into his mouth. Now let me preface this by saying that I was not there when it happened. After the ball hit him, he fell to the ground. There was a coach close by who assisted him, so Dad decided to take the Dad Approach. Dad was going to let him walk it off.
I firmly believe that kids need two parents, with different perspectives. Had Mom been there, this is the point where I would have charged the field. My baby is on the ground. And I don’t care if he is eight or fifty-eight. He is still my baby.
Dad feels that his job is to show the boys how to be men. A tougher approach. Sometimes life will throw you curve balls. And sometimes they will hit you right in the mouth. Literally. You have to dust yourself off and go again.
But even Dad threw all of that out the window once he saw blood pooling from his mouth. Then Dad was in Daddy Bear mode.
Cut to me receiving a call. I can always tell when my husband is about to tell me something bad. He has a way of trying to act like everything is going to be okay, all in an effort to not freak me out, all while he is freaking out. He told me to have an ice pack ready and a dentist on call.
When they finally made it home, and I saw my son, I was flooded with feels. His little lip was swollen, his nose was raw and he was clutching a blood soaked towel. Straight to the bathroom we went for damage inspection. And by we, I mean them. There is no way I could look into his mouth, without passing out. Yes, I am a light weight.
I am only there to love, reassure and support him. Dad is there to clean his mouth with peroxide. After an inspection it was apparent that he needed to be seen by a dentist. He had a cut inside his mouth and his two front teeth were swinging in the wind.
Long story short, his teeth should be okay. An x-ray showed that there was no damage to the roots. Brackets were applied to secure them both to the stationary teeth next to them for healing. No biting for four weeks and nothing crunchy.
That was a close one. No one wants to hear eight year old and oral surgeon in the same sentence.
So evidently after a traumatic event like this, you actually feel worse on day two. Today he awoke very sore and miserable. We decided that a day off of school to rest was in order. This is one of those times when I am so thankful to be able to be here with my kids.
Whatever your take on stay-at-home parents, you do you. Some people work because they have to and some work because they love to. No two people are on the same path. For me though, being here with my children feels like my purpose. Thankfully, I am able to do just that right now.
Although he may at times wish someone else was in charge. He is having a hard time eating, naturally. Nothing sounds good to him. Or stuff hurts his mouth. But this morning I insisted that he take his medicine. I know that medicine can be rough on the stomach. And especially an empty one. But I am a rule follower. And he had to follow doctor’s orders.
Me forcing meds on him. I guess that is why he later threw up. Twice. In a projectile fashion.
These are the times that I do NOT enjoy being a stay at home parent. Dad and I have an unspoken deal. Dad does vomit detail. Except Dad was at work. And I was the adult in charge. I got through it though. I only cried a little this time. Being OCD helped me push through. Vomit-free living space is a must.
Anyway. Now my little guy is resting comfortably (finally) on the couch, as I type this.
Bad stuff is going to happen to your children. There is no way around it. As parents, we just do the best we can to help them get back up, when they fall. Kids have to live their lives. And we have to let them.
I just hope that when I am old, my kids will return the favor and take care of me. And I will go on the record right now and state that if I ever feel the urge to vomit, in one of their houses one day, I shall do just that. Projectile style.
I am also going to jump up and down on their furniture and leave the refrigerator door open. But that is for another post.