Momma said...

Don't let the perfect temps and gorgeous sunshine fool you. Something is afoot.

Today started out innocently enough--a small carpool hiccup, but nothing unmanageable. I coached my sister who was coming to watch the boys for the morning through the nuances of the kindergarten pick up and headed into the office ready to check things off my list like a woman on a mission. Yeah, that lasted for all of 30 minutes.

A quick call from my slightly panicked sister informed me that Preston had hit his head on the sofa table while chasing her dog around the house. Oh the perils of bring your pet to babysit day!

Her side of the conversation went something like this:

"It's bleeding... a lot."

"I don't think it hurt his eye."

"Yes. It looks deep."

The thoughts in my head went something like this:

"Seriously?"

"It better not be his eye."

"So glad I wore my white pants today--perfect for consoling bloodied boys."

And with that the mad hatter's party of a day began.

Fortunately, the pediatrician's office does do stitches. I say fortunately because, if you remember, they do not do concussions. They don't even look at concussions. Not even if you're standing right in front of them with a puking child you suspect has a concussion. Good for me I'm over that little incident (can't you tell I'm so over it?) because now I needed them to do stitches. I mean I really needed them to do stitches. I selfishly could not think of something I rather do less than spend the entire day in the ER at Primary Children's again (because that's who does concussions).

I did think it odd when I called to give the pediatrician's office a heads up that we were coming in they asked if I thought I could hold Preston down by myself. "Me hold down a writhing four year old you are trying to sew up," I wondered out loud. "I'm not sure. I've never tried," I answered. Her answer? "Okay, we can just grab some of the medical assistants if we need to, go ahead and come on in." Really?

Maybe it's just the PR side of me, but who are these people? Isn't possessing some fraction of a calming bedside manner a prerequisite to entering the medical field? If not, it should be because at that point all I could think was that I had a choice to make--Preston was going to be scarred either physically if I chose not take him in, or emotionally if I did. It was a gamble and I do not enjoy gambling.

Fortunately, calm and rationality took over when a new doc we had not seen in the office before introduced himself to us as our caregiver of the day.

He said: "Hi, I'm Kevin."

I thought: "I'm sure you mean Doctor Kevin, right? Who goes to all that school and doesn't demand a proper title at least 50 times a day?"

But I said: "Great. Can you help my little man?"

A few punny doctor to four year old jokes later, a promise from me of some new Star Wars Legos for bravery, and some serious human glue and Presto and I were both relieved the ordeal was over without any further scars, seen or unseen.

One child mended. One child properly carpooled. One work day shot to--well, just shot. Now it was time to ready the newest for his first physical therapy appointment.

Yes, according to some well qualified professionals it seems McKay is lagging a bit behind his peer group these days when it comes to moving his mass in age appropriate ways. Me? I've been skeptical. I think he's just smelling the roses, and half expected the PT to agree with me and wonder what the heck she was doing in our living room with such a strong kiddo. Wrong.

His initial evaluation has resulted in a recommendation for twice weekly appointments with physical and occupational therapists for the next six to 12 months. Hmmm. I wondered what we were going to do with our abundant free time...so glad that problem is solved. Whatever. We always find time to squeeze everything in, right? Here's to enjoying some private coaching that will put Mr. Mac ahead of the pack and ready for his next round of downtime without missing a beat.

The grand finale? The day ended with Matt passing out from a blood draw at his yearly physical and him coming home eerily drained of any sort of energy and color. He spent the rest of the night sipping OJ, drifting in and out of sleep, worrying me that he had driven home in this state. Let's hope the results of the blood test are far less dramatic than the actual blood draw. For the love!

I'm sure tomorrow morning will bring improved circumstances to our little abode. I'm having the windows cleaned, however, and whenever you pay good money for crystal clear views it's a sure bet it's going to rain. No matter. After today, I say bring it on. For now I'm glad momma said there would be days like this; not weeks, months, or years. Days I can take. And tomorrow is a new one. Hallelujah.