- I was in the middle of updating my Writerly Wednesday post for publication yesterday when I found out that my child was en route to the emergency room. (All of the exciting tidbits that showcase the more boring financial pieces of being a writer will have to wait until next week.)
- I obviously ran out of my office like a decapitated chicken and got a Lyft to the hospital, imagining every worst case scenario that could’ve possibly happened from when I talked to the school (bump on the head, he’s fine, just needs to go home) to ER-bound. We sat in the ER for a while, keeping my irrepressible and very active kiddo occupied, while also trying to keep him from falling off the bed, bouncing off the walls, or kidsplaining the human skull to the pediatrician. (“I have an anatomy book at home. I know all the bones.”)
- He’s fine. Mild (likely) concussion (possible unicorn horn sprouting). He’s back at school today, and when I talked to his teacher this morning about making sure he remembers to not run around too much, she said that she always has a kid or two like him every year and she’ll remind him to go slow. (She also said that he fell out of his chair earlier this week because he was so excited about something.)
This kid. THIS KID! I maintain the position I developed in 2013 when he jumped off a playground structure: parents should be given defibrillators when discharged from the hospital with their newborns. It’s a good thing I’ve decided to embrace my natural hair color, because the smattering of greys I earned in the last 24 hours is likely too powerful for any dye. Bonus – kid has a new “career choice of the week” and is going to be a doctor who takes care of sick kids and he’s going to work at that specific hospital.