We took Parker to see the Easter Bunny this past weekend. I was worried. After all, usually those Easter Bunny costumes are usually pretty freaky looking. Our Easter bunny was no exception. We were standing in line when he came back from his Bunny Break and I looked at Michael and said "That is one of the most frightening things I've ever seen!" I was exaggerating, but I was trying to think about it from a small child's point of view. I don't know if I would have walked up to him as a small child!
My son however, from his stroller in line, started cheerily waving at the giant white and pink monster! What a brave boy! His fearless attitude didn't waver when it was his turn to sit on the bunny's lap either! (The much older child in front of him had refused when it was his turn to take his picture with the fluffy, non-blinking rabbit.) In fact, he sat there and happily posed for several pictures taken by myself and the "professional" photographer. (My pictures were better by far, and I am beginning to wonder if these holiday photographers are trained to take the picture only after the child has decided to stop smiling.)
The Easter Bunny seemed unusually eager to give our son back, despite his cheery behavior. I thought it odd that he was so impatient to get back to the angry, screaming children...until I retrieved my son and found that he had leaked through his pants and was quite damp.
Poor, poor Mr. Bunny. Whatever they pay him, I am sure it is not enough.
Daddy had picked out Parker's Easter outfit, which I thought looked quite dapper! Apparently we missed the memo that little boys can't wear purple though, because everywhere we went my son became "she" or "her". When I (politely...even the 100th time) pointed out that "she" was a HE, I was told over and over "Oh, but he's in purple!" Really? I don't think my son, even in such a feminine color as purple, looks even a teeny bit like a girl. He has always amazed me with how boyish he looks, even as a newborn. I was shocked at how annoying I found it by the 5th or 6th time. Ah well.
We had a great day. "Uncle" Ivy and Mimi had come along, and after the Bunny visit we went out to dinner at the Meat Bar. (Which is not the places real name, but anyone who had ever been there would know what I meant.) Everyone was very full and sleepy by the time we got home, which was Ivy's house. We got busy bringing things inside and letting the dogs out and figuring out what we were going to do with our evening...and we had all just sat down for a moment's rest when we heard a frightening thunk followed by Parker's screams.
The thunk had come from the area of the stairs, which caused the immediate stampede of four adults racing in that direction. By the time we arrived (which might have taken 2 thousandths of a second at the rate we were moving) Parker's forehead was already turning purple and sporting an impressive goose egg and a nasty looking gash.
In all of our hustle and bustle getting inside, every last one of us had forgotten to put up the baby gate at the bottom of the stairs. Ivy's son, Trenton, is almost 3 and so the gates aren't usually up in their house. They get them out special for Parker. We don't have stairs at our house, and he is far too curious about theirs for comfort. He had taken this opportunity in the lack of security to make his way up, which he has done with supervision before. He is a very good climber, until he decided to look behind him to see who is watching. When someone is with him they can just reach out and steady his back until he starts climbing again, but this time there was no one to steady his fall, resulting in a very painful and frightening tumble.
I went immediately into Mommy Mode, which is something I think only other mothers, fathers and teachers can understand. It's like a dense fog or calm surrounds your mind, allowing you to only concentrate on what needs to get done and not on the rampaging panic that you know is waiting, just outside the foggy calm. I gathered up an ice pack and towel while Ivy and Michael checked him over and made the decision to go to the UCC. (The base's Urgent Care Center. We don't have an actual ER.)
Parker had stopped crying before we even got there, which is less than a 3 minute drive. He's a tough boy. (Apparently they couldn't tell at the UCC though...since they told me at the waiting desk to try to keep the ice pack on "her" head...really?!!!) He doesn't like stethoscopes, so screamed bloody murder while he was being checked over, but he was all smiles again by the time we were back in the waiting room.
He had vomited a little bit shortly after we got there, so they wanted us to wait around for about 2 hours to make sure he didn't get sick again or show any other signs of a more serious head injury. He was his old self, grinning and laughing and pushing around the chairs in the waiting room and making Ivy, Michael and I run around after him!
God bless Ivy, he stayed with us the whole time. I apologized to him for taking up his Saturday night at the UCC, and he told us that nothing else he had planned was as important...in his words "family comes first"...which made me cry. (He then told me that if I didn't stop crying he was going to make me walk home, which sounded much more like my Ivy.)
After almost 2 hours the doctor came out to check on my now sleepy son and gave me an internet print out on head injuries before sending us home. (All of what we did there I could have done at home...Yay Government Health Care! I hope you're ready America!) While it looked that night like Parker might even get a black eye out of his little adventure, several days later he barely has a bruise and it doesn't look anywhere near as bad as it looked like it was going to get.
Big old gash and still all smiles! That's my boy!
So all in one day he got to meet the Easter Bunny and got a big old goose egg on his head! So much excitement!
Much later, when Parker was asleep and Michael and I were getting ready to go to bed (we woke up Parker every couple of hours that night, just in case), I finally got to break down when my foggy calm lifted. I cried and cried thinking of how much worse it could have been, and Michael held me close and told me just to thank God that it hadn't been, which I did, over and over again. After all, he could have broken an arm or a leg or worse...and he managed to scrape by with a few bumps and bruises. I am so thankful and blessed that he didn't get hurt worse.
A lady in the waiting room, who was there getting x-rays for her own son, assured me that it had happened to every parent, and that there was much more to come. *sigh* So much to look forward to.
Thank you for reading.