We had a small birthday party last night for William, we invited his grandparents over for crockpot beef stew, salad and cake. Ice cream cake. Chocolate. Of course.
Before everyone came over, William and I were hanging out playing with things and chatting. His Grandma D. came back in from doing her walk, and we heard the garage door go up. Knowing that meant his daddy was home, Grandma D. said, “I think someone’s home!” William turned and hurriedly took a couple steps and tripped over the base of his rocking motorcycle and fell. On his way down, he bashed his mouth on the handle of the rocking motorcycle. There was a 2 second pause as he landed on the ground and digested just how much it hurt.
By that point I was there to pick him up and then there was blood. Everywhere and immediate. Down his shirt, on his pants, on his arms. The louder he cried, the more blood there was. I’m holding him and feeling helpless. Nothing I did could make it better. He tried to latch to nurse, but couldn’t, leaving a trail of blood all over me. So I just held him and whispered into his neck how much I loved him and how sorry I was that happened to him.
His Grandma and daddy got him some paper towels, some dry, some wet, some with ice cubes in them. He finally started sucking on the one with ice in it. He did that for awhile, alternately sucking and crying. I desperately wanted to look in his mouth to see how bad the damage was, but couldn’t. He didn’t want to let go of the paper towel. So I waited.
He finally asked to nurse, and then after a bit, he wanted to go upstairs to his room and nurse, but he would intermittently just start screaming. Gosh, it was the saddest thing ever. We dosed him with Advil, because the intermittent crying made me think the pain was cycling, like pain can do. About 30 minutes, still nursing, I asked if he wanted to go downstairs to see his grandparents (they had arrived after we went upstairs). He gave me an “Mmmmm Hmmmm,” unlatched for 1/2 second and got a horrified look on his face and lunged back to nurse again, whimpering in pain. It took him 15 more minutes before he was finally ready to go downstairs. Poor kid.
He ate his birthday dinner cautiously and reminded Tony to “be careful with the owie” when he ever so gently brushed his teeth. And now the wait and watching for infection begins to see what damage he did beyond battering up the inside of his mouth… like, if he did any damage to his teeth, if they turn grey or not (like one of them did before and self-healed) from a fall a few months ago.
I figure, at least they’re still in his head. For now. That’s a good thing, right?