When I was a kid I had somewhat of a reputation for finding my way to every emergency room in every city I happened to be in. My husband is not unfamiliar with bumps bruises, and holes in his shins that go clear to the bone either.
We have found ourselves parents to three boys who seem to have inherited our ER gravitating genes. In May we found ourselves hauling our 4 year-old to Urgent Care after his brother slammed his finger in the toilet. We were excited to learn that we were the first toilet injury in there that day, even though we couldn't save the nail.
This weekend held adventures of high fevers and diarrhea which allowed us to visit our old friends staffing the Urgent Care yet again.
Settling in for a long and boring week, which I looked forward to with enthusiasm, my plans were thwarted with a fall from our 4 year-old who must of gotten a double dose of our genes and some we didn't know existed. Dancing in the middle of the unusually clean living room he toppled over himself and screamed as if the world had come to an end.
As there may also be a few genes in the drama department residing in one or more of us, we threatened him that if he didn't stop the banshee wails we would send him over to the neighbors yard that has a hound dog that sounds much worse at 5am than any injured 4 year old could, and really has it coming to them.
The next morning the child still wouldn't walk and feeling a little guilty for not listening to his wails that his foot was broken and he would never walk again and he might die, I made my very familiar way back to Urgent Care.
The technician who casted my son's broken foot came into the room, dubbed my son the toilet kid, which said kid found kind of cool, and promised to keep a room open for us for the next bizarre mishap we happened to find ourselves in.
Today I found myself wearing my tires thin as I drove all over the city searching for someone who had a boot the size of my tiny child so I wouldn't have to endure a cast for 6 weeks, but the highlight of my day had to be when I realized they made children's Motrin in 8oz bottles instead of just 4oz. I bought two just to be safe.
Tonight I breathed a sigh of relief as bedtime was less than an hour away when my 5 year-old came to me asked, "Mom, what would happen if you stuck a finger nail up your nose?" That child is sitting with a Kleenex trying to get the fingernail out and bedtime will not happen on time yet again.
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