Despite the sleep exhaustion all around, we’ve had a pretty easy 11 months here. One bout of pukiness and Ezra’s dedication to finding new ways to scratch himself no matter how often I trim his nails—that’s about all I’ve had to really worry about so far when it comes to my preshus widdle baby.
Okay, there may have been that time where I closed my eyes for a second and he decided to leap off of the bed head first.
And there may have been that time where I noticed mysterious purple dots all over his face and became convinced he was DYING. RIGHT NOW. OMG. CALL 911!!! (thanks, Dr. Google!) before my mom shoved me to the side and wiped the blueberry splatters from lunch off his face. While maybe rolling her eyes at me a little. But hey, I’m not the one who didn’t clean him up after feeding him neon-colored food!
But otherwise? It’s been pretty smooth sailing.
So when I put Ezra in his high chair on Saturday morning and walked into the kitchen to get his food, I was totally unprepared for the huge crash I heard behind me. For all the unthinkable thoughts that rushed through my mind in that split second of terrifying silence as I rushed back into the room. And then the crying. Oh, the crying!
Ezra had kicked off of the dining table and thrown himself backwards, into the shelf behind him and the floor beneath.
He screamed and screamed and screamed while I tried cradling him close and calming him down. And after 5 or ten minutes, I finally found one of binkies and tried giving it to him. He took it and immediately started to fall asleep.
And that’s when I really started to worry. Because this baby? He never immediately falls asleep. So I took the binky away and tried to call the on-call nurse with a sad, hurt, crying baby right next to my ear.
I was really, really expecting them to say “Oh, he’s fine! Relax! Don’t worry about it.” But after putting me on hold to talk to the ER doctor, she said I should bring him in.
To the emergency room.
You know. The room for emergencies. Like the one going on right now. With my baby.
You know. The bright, shining, happy little center of my world.
I called Cris at work and five minutes later he was home, all worried and teary-eyed (manly tears!) and we rushed the still-crying baby to the emergency room.
And then we waited for a hour. Of course. Is there anything in the world worse than an emergency room on a Saturday morning? If there is, I don’t want to know about it.
The doctor decided to keep him there for a few hours of observational instead of doing an MRI. Which is cool, ‘cause I really don’t want my baby to die of cancer, but man, those few hours sucked. Hard. There is nothing about a hospital bed and a plain, gross room that makes an upset, hurt, starving, sleepy 11-month-old feel better in any way.
At one point, a nurse came in take us the basement for his x-ray, despite my insistence that he wasn’t supposed to have an xray. We sat in that waiting room for 30 minutes before she realized she was mistaken and sent us back.
And then shortly after, another nurse came in to prep him for his MRI. And then I had to get all NO HE IS NOT HAVING AN MRI GO TALK TO THE DOCTOR FIRST NOW PLEASE.
So eventually the doctor came back, said Ezra seemed fine, and then told us to leave before they tried to get us to have any other unnecessary procedures.
Kaiser Oakland? You suck.
But my baby’s head is still fully functional, so I’m counting this weekend as a Win anyway.
Good job, awesome little toothy daredevil guy!