Sometimes during a long day we retreat to the bed. It becomes our hiding spot from monsters, a ship that is sailing to a hidden candy island, or just a place to snuggle up and read books or tell stories. It’s our escape. The change of a room opens up imaginations and calms heated tempers. This is my go-to for boredom. It works.
It’s also a place I sneak a child away to for some one on one time. A tickle session, or the child gets crookified (yeah, we might just claim that word as ours. In case explanation is needed, crookified means a sweet head rests right in the perfect arm crook) and we talk and/or tell wild stories. Or indulge in a wicked game of peek-a-boo that still gets belly roaring laughs from all the children.
Monday, I grabbed Zane and took him on the bed with me. It was made, so we laid in the middle and I ticked his soft, rolly skin. He is the most ticklish by far, a gentle touch usually gets some major laughs. You touch the neck and his little body hunches forward and expels a serious belch of wonderful baby laughter. His hands gripped my face and I was enjoying him. Violette heard the laughing and proclaims, “My come up too!”. I reached around to pick her up and thud. Zane had quickly got away from me and rolled off the bed.
I clambered toward him and scoop his screaming body up. He quieted down fairly quickly and it was close to nap time so I nursed him and to bed he went. We he woke about an hour later he was still uncharacteristically fussy. I put him down so he could put his new crawling skill to use. He went from sitting to all fours and his arm collapsed and the cry of pain came. I tried moving his arm and gently touching it, knowing that something was indeed wrong as he cried out in obvious discomfort
Off to the ER the Roehrig Clan headed, again. As I drove I held in the tears, only a few escaped. I replayed his fall over and over, wishing I had done something differently. I should’ve just left him on the ground and went on with chores, but that laugh and time was so nice. As parents I think we all play the “should’ve, could’ve would’ve” game when an accident occurs. I talked myself out of deep sobs, knowing that I fiercely love my children and focus needed to be on the task at hand, getting Zane checked out. In a moment of Motherhood collection, I pulled it together and drove without tears streaming down my face, and my hands were steadfast.
It was around a six hour stay, made much better by my Aunt being there with us. She helped keep the kids busy while I took Zane to get x-rayed a few times. Having another set of hands around, someone new and exciting and much loved, helped a lot. It made the long stay float by while many potential meltdowns were turned into laughter and fun memories. As I put Max to bed that night when asked what his favorite part of the day was he responded with a smile on his face, “Seeing Aunt Shawn and going in the ambulance!”. The next morning when asked the routine question of what did you dream about, Violette said, “My dream about Aunt Shawn!”.
In the end we left with a hard splint and head back to an orthopedic doctor on Monday. I gaze at my sweet boy and can’t help but smile at him and his club arm. He’s mad. Real mad, that he can’t put his new crawling skill to use anymore. He tries but he can’t figure it out and a few cries when pressure is applied to the arm tells me he is actually in some pain. It will not be on for too long (exact numbers will be found on on Monday), and he’ll be back to moving around soon.
In the mean time I hold and snuggle him tightly as much as he wants. It’s a lot too, he wants to be held most of the day. We all get together and cuddle, trying to make him smile when the grumpiness hits.
The bed will be inhabited and used again. We’ll still jump in and I’ll steal moments of alone time when I can or transform it’s comfy covers into a hiding place from the silly monsters.
Zane will heal and my Mother’s Guilt will fade, some, with time.
