A couple of weeks ago, I had a day that was, well, maybe the worst day of my life. Or maybe not quite the worst. Maybe that is being a bit dramatic. But if I was to make an analogy of this day, I would definitely use the image of a paper bag, filled with poop and hair balls, lit on fire. That would definitely be in the analogy somewhere.
It all started in the morning, as I was in my bedroom, wrapping presents on the floor, with my little curly-haired assistant, Morgan, helping out. I was letting her use the scissors to just cut random scraps of wrapping paper and think she was actually helping me (3-year-olds are so gullible). After we were done, I put the scissors up on top of dresser, because I know my kids. They will go straight Josephine March on themselves if left alone with the scissors.
After I was done, we left my bedroom and I went to get Luke, who had just woken up and was standing in his crib, bundle up in his sleep sack and that big toothy grin plastered on his face- it wins my heart every time. I brought him downstairs to feed him, while Morgan, at some point, decided to strut around the house sans-clothes, like she owns the place. And while I was feeding Luke, she came out of my bedroom, where she had obviously been searching for the scissors to not avail, and asked me where the scissors were. In one of the greatest lapse of parenting judgement ever, I decided to be honest with her. I told her that I put them away on top of the dresser. What!? Why would I give her the location?? I am an idiot.
I thought that was the end of the story. It's on top of the dresser, a.k.a. out of her grubby, 50-percentile-for-height hands. But boy, did I underestimate her determination. Morgan goes back into my bedroom and a minute or so later I hear a big, BIG crash of things falling down. And then I hear her scream bloody murder. I pop Luke off (if you know what I mean), put him down, and rush into my bedroom, not sure what made the big crash. As I ran into the room, my confusion instantly changed to a terrible understanding as I saw Morgan pinned underneath the dresser and the TV that had been on top of the dresser. She had opened the drawers to climb into them in an attempt to reach the scissors, bringing down the whole shebang on top of her sweet, 50-percentile-for-weight body. The way that the dresser had fallen was that it landed against the fallen TV, propping it up slightly and making a little triangular space underneath. This is where Morgan was. I saw immediately that Morgan's head was bloody and there was blood sprinkled on the floor. I pulled her out, without much resistance, since she luckily was in this little space and I looked her over quickly and saw that it didn't look like she had broken any of her limbs. It was just her head that looked damaged. It was bleeding a lot, so I quickly grabbed a towel and pressed it against her head.
I was very scared at this point, mostly concerned that she had done some serious damage to her head with such a heavy blow. I could see that the TV had hit her head, I just didn't know serious the impact had been. I asked her questions to see if she could spell her name because I was worried she might have a concussion. She was crying and screaming, but still answered my questions, so I decided she would be okay if I drove her to the hospital. Except, I didn't have a clue where a hospital was. So I called Cody, and in my best emergency voice, told him what happened and asked him where the hospital was. While I was talking to Cody, I just kept walking back and forth, with Morgan in my arms, trying to think about how I was going to get Luke and her ready to get in the van. Luke still had a diaper full from the night, and Morgan was naked, save for her underwear. Finally I put Morgan down, had her hold the towel to her head as she talked to Cody on the phone. He did a good job calming her down, while I quickly changed Luke's diaper, put him in the car seat and grabbed a change of clothes for Morgan. And then off to the hospital we drove.
To make this long story short (way too late), she had a gash on her head that required stitches, but no other damage to her head or body. We stopped for ice-cream on the way home from the hospital. When I inspected the TV, I could see exactly where the TV hit her, as there was a pool of blood on the bottom edge. I feel so incredibly lucky that she wasn't hurt more. We feel so blessed that she is in our lives, her quirky attitude, and her sweet hugs. We love everything about her.
This was all said and done and we were home from the hospital by 9:30 in the morning. And then the rest of the day was filled with lack of naps by Luke, who was having ear trouble and therefore was a little grumpy, and a couple of upsetting phone calls from Claire's school, which is another post in and of itself. By 2:00, I was so beat-up emotionally that I had to call my dad and cry. And he made me feel better.
So I guess it wasn't the worst day of my life, because everything turned out fine. Morgan healed, Luke's ears healed, and the calls from Claire's school, which had seemed upsetting at the time, have turned out to be not such a big deal.
Things are good. Except we still haven't gotten the blood stains completely out of the carpet yet. But I have Oxyclean, so I am not giving up yet.
{Scene of the Crime}
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