I hope you all enjoyed the holiday weekend. We celebrated with baby boy’s first concussion.
You’re thinking I already shared this post. Wrong kid. And no stairs this time.
Destroy is a vertically inclined little man. He could climb before he could walk. When left to his own devices, he would merely roll his tiny baby body across the living room floor – crawling or walking was of no interest. But divert your attention for only a minute and the toddler would be scaling the entertainment center like it was his personal Mt. Everest.
We regularly search out good, old fashioned, unsafe big kid climbing structures – the kind of park playgrounds made of metal, with ropes courses and vertical challenges. He often falls. I always figured he’d discover his boundaries through trial and error.
We’re in more of an error phase right now.
Last week, we discovered Destroy shimmying up a beam in the living room. Clearly gym class rope climb won’t be a problem for him. I chastised him appropriately and life continued.
Lesson not learned.
Saturday evening, as I attempted to organize our dining room bar, I heard a wail pierce the night air. Search raced out of the master bedroom ahead of his dazed and confused brother. Destroy had attempted to ascend my four-post bed.
I scooped up Destroy for the requisite cuddle, but voiced my concern when he seemed to try and nap in my arms. We rationalized this because he’d refused his afternoon nap. Tired was legit.
Dinner was a disaster. The kid flung his pizza across the table because he wanted a paper plate instead of a porcelain “big boy” plate. To the Time Out chair! Unfortunately, this only increased my concern as he sat there blankly staring at his dad. He normally has much more fight.
We sat him back down. He looked up. “I have to throw up,” he said meekly.
Well that will earn you a trip to the ER.
Jon headed off to our local emergency room, shaking our little man awake the whole way. He was triaged and sent to radiology for a CT scan – just what I was worried about.
Hours later I heard back as Jon and Destroy waited. (Saturday night is apparently a rather popular night for the ER.) “Still in the waiting room. Now he wants pizza.” He spent hours distracted by Jon’s phone. (See above photo.)
Hunger could only be a good thing.
The doctor finally came back. The CT scan was clear, although she noted it was likely a mild concussion.
Because he ate all of his pizza upon his return, he was cleared to spend the next day at the park with Grandpa Gary.
“Higher! Higher! Higher!” he screamed on the swing before letting go of the chains and flying through the air in a perilous arc of adventure.
What goes up, must come down.
By his own accord, for a brief glorious moment, he was a flying fish. And then he crashed back to Earth with some impressive scrapes as a souvenir.
You know what is the worst part of this medical intervention?
The kid thinks he’s invincible.
Granted, so far from the very beginning of life, he has been.