The thing we didn't talk about
It starts like this:
Sometime in December, around Christmas maybe, Adam and I noticed that Nora had a greenish bruise on her forearm that, when pressed, revealed a lump. Neither one of us could remember her hitting her arm all that forcefully, but assumed that she'd hit in just the right way that it bruise. Toddlers fall all of the time and we brushed it off.
A few weeks later, shortly before her eighteen month check up around January 15th, we noticed the bruise and accompanying lump were still there, unchanged; it was neither better, or worse. We said that we'd mention it to the pediatrician, but we forgot in the flurry of activity that goes along with the eighteen month check up.
We noticed it, again, the same as before, a week before she was to go in for her last shot on February 15th, but the nurse visit was so quick we didn't even mention it.
A couple days ago I noticed the bruise was still there and immediately, since it was on my mind and in front of my eyes, called the office nurse to ask her opinion on what to do. She had me bring Nora in the next day.
Here's where I admit that I FREAKED OUT for twenty-four hours like a crazy person. CRAZY. PERSON. In my head, that logical place that rarely gets heard from when it comes to my daughter, I knew that it was most likely nothing. At worst the doctor would tell us that it's a cyst that would need to be removed, or drained, but logic had taken a vacation and for twenty-four hours MY BABY WAS DYING.
I couldn't stop kissing her and touching her and whispering "I love you" all creepy. The paranoia had me, folks, in a death grip and sanity was losing.
Happily it was only twenty-four hours of nonsense and we were able to get Nora in to see her doctor. He was able to check it out and he's 99% sure that it's a hematoma from some injury we didn't realize was so traumatic. (Great parenting. The kid got a hematoma and we didn't notice. AM I RIGHT????????????) We're supposed to keep an eye on it (do two count? and is it okay that I touch it about a dozen times a day. Just kidding. Maybe.) and we'll go back in six weeks for the doctor to evaluate it's healing process.
The thing is, it was bothering the both of us, but neither one of us wanted to be the first to admit that we were scared. Adam and I do that all the time, play these ridiculous games of emotional chicken and it baffles me. We're so mature and solid in other areas, but emotional maturity is basically out to lunch.
Go figure.
So, we did it. We survived the first little parenting test. Sure, maybe it wouldn't seem like a test to you, but we're still the nutters who make our nineteen month old child sleep with a breathing monitor thingie. Boom. Enjoy that revelation.
Sometime in December, around Christmas maybe, Adam and I noticed that Nora had a greenish bruise on her forearm that, when pressed, revealed a lump. Neither one of us could remember her hitting her arm all that forcefully, but assumed that she'd hit in just the right way that it bruise. Toddlers fall all of the time and we brushed it off.
A few weeks later, shortly before her eighteen month check up around January 15th, we noticed the bruise and accompanying lump were still there, unchanged; it was neither better, or worse. We said that we'd mention it to the pediatrician, but we forgot in the flurry of activity that goes along with the eighteen month check up.
We noticed it, again, the same as before, a week before she was to go in for her last shot on February 15th, but the nurse visit was so quick we didn't even mention it.
A couple days ago I noticed the bruise was still there and immediately, since it was on my mind and in front of my eyes, called the office nurse to ask her opinion on what to do. She had me bring Nora in the next day.
Here's where I admit that I FREAKED OUT for twenty-four hours like a crazy person. CRAZY. PERSON. In my head, that logical place that rarely gets heard from when it comes to my daughter, I knew that it was most likely nothing. At worst the doctor would tell us that it's a cyst that would need to be removed, or drained, but logic had taken a vacation and for twenty-four hours MY BABY WAS DYING.
I couldn't stop kissing her and touching her and whispering "I love you" all creepy. The paranoia had me, folks, in a death grip and sanity was losing.
Happily it was only twenty-four hours of nonsense and we were able to get Nora in to see her doctor. He was able to check it out and he's 99% sure that it's a hematoma from some injury we didn't realize was so traumatic. (Great parenting. The kid got a hematoma and we didn't notice. AM I RIGHT????????????) We're supposed to keep an eye on it (do two count? and is it okay that I touch it about a dozen times a day. Just kidding. Maybe.) and we'll go back in six weeks for the doctor to evaluate it's healing process.
The thing is, it was bothering the both of us, but neither one of us wanted to be the first to admit that we were scared. Adam and I do that all the time, play these ridiculous games of emotional chicken and it baffles me. We're so mature and solid in other areas, but emotional maturity is basically out to lunch.
Go figure.
So, we did it. We survived the first little parenting test. Sure, maybe it wouldn't seem like a test to you, but we're still the nutters who make our nineteen month old child sleep with a breathing monitor thingie. Boom. Enjoy that revelation.
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