Every day when you send your kid to school, you assume that they will make it back home in basically the same shape they left.
For my son, today was not that day. The excitement never seems to end here at Casa Glinda.
I was attempting to take a nap (since I just cannot seem to get better and I sound like a two-pack a day smoker) when I get a call from Erica, the school nurse.
“Yes, well, the Munchkin was knocked over and hit his head on the edge of a lunch table, and I really think you should come down and take a look at it,” which is nurse-speak for get down here right now.
So off my husband goes to pick him up, and I have thoughts of egg-sized contusions on his head or a possible concussion.
When my son comes through the door, he looks like Mike Tyson after a fight.
What stands out the most is his right eye, of which the upper part beneath the eyebrow is already swollen and purple. As is the part under his eye, and despite icing efforts, his eyeball is becoming a small slit due to the pressure on the soft tissue above.
So we spend the better part of the day at the ER, and although everything checked out, there was a bit of a scare in the possibility of a detached retina or other such ugly eye-related catastrophes.
Poor guy, he’s in quite a bit of pain. And I’m guessing tomorrow he won’t be able to see out of the eye at all.
Great, I can already see the disapproving stares coming from pretty much any and all adults who will see him in the next week or so. Whispering behind their hands about what an irresponsible mother I am for allowing her son to retain such a horrid injury. Why the hell can’t parents like me watch their kid?
Although you know that I’m going to take a picture of it, right? No self-respecting parent would neglect to take a picture of their badly injured (but eventually just fine) child. For, uh, legal purposes, of course.