Fortunately, my rushed and busy morning slowed down somewhat when my BFF and her boys decided to come and do nothing for the day. Well, our boys were busy fishing, riding bikes on bike jumps, playing outside, and devouring a whole bag of candy left over from a birthday party, but Melanie and I chose to sit outside in the sun and catch up on our lives since summer began.
Much to mine and Melanie's delight, Megan opted to stay inside and bake something delicious. Of course Megan can't ever quite stay focused on one task without about 315 interruptions. Wednesday was no different.
As bad luck would have it, Melanie and I switched our chairs to the driveway rather than the back patio to keep a more watchful eye on the little boys. As such, Megan walked through the garage about 297 times to either inform us of her baking progress, ask our opinion on the baking process, or to tell us such things as the sky being blue. (Actually, to Megan's credit, there were far fewer interruptions than typically.)
I'm not sure the exact course of events that ended in a trip to the ER a few minutes later, but Megan came out to tell/ask us who knows what and the next thing she is laying down on the dirty garage floor writhing in pain. Now, I have to tell you that I've never been a mother to jump up immediately to attend to an injured child. Especially my girls. They have a tendency to, well let's put it this way, they could probably both be very successful in drama and theater.
Except after a couple of seconds I could tell she was probably really hurt and instantly thought it was probably another sprained toe (she's done that more than once!). Except out of her mouth blurted, "Mom, help me. I have a nail in my foot."
My natural-mother-bear-save-my-child-reaction obviously doesn't cover nails in feet as I turned immediately to Melanie and said, "Go look at it."
Of course I was inches behind Melanie and within seconds couldn't help but look myself. It was sort of a big, fat nail and we looked at each other in kind of a shocked and dazed "What do we do?" kind of way. Weren't we just sitting on the driveway gossiping about nothing, while waiting for a delicious cookie-dough-brownie-topped-filled with oreo dessert?
The long and short of it, was we knew we shouldn't pull the nail out ourselves, and after a call to the pediatrician, I headed to the local emergency room. Megan was near hysterics the whole time, crying out how scared she was of stitches, needles and any sort of medical procedure. Oh, she was crying because of pain too.
A few antibiotics, some antiseptic ointments and some bandages were about the only treatments needed. (Thank goodness her immunizations are current and I didn't have to put up with the added drama of a tetanus shot!)
**Warning-don't look if you're squirmish. It's sorta disgusting. (The dirty foot and the inserted nail.)**
Not that we're pointing fingers or anything. But we have had more than one discussion on not leaving out nails, and other potentially dangerous objects. We ought to discuss the importance of shoes too. Although the ER doctor said if you do step on a nail, doing it barefoot is much better than doing it with shoes on. (Too much added bacteria and germs.) So maybe we won't have the barefoot discussion after all.
Late Wednesday night I talked to my mother-in-law about my day beginning with transporting goats, interspersed with a nail in the foot ER visit. (At this point in the evening, I was not yet aware that it would end with an 11:07pm visit into my three year old's room to tell him to quit shining a flashlight in his brothers' faces.)
Referring to goats and nails in feet, I lamented to my mother-in-law, "This was not in my job description." Her experienced reply said, "It was. It is just in the fine print that nobody reads."
Warning to all you younger mothers with fewer and younger children--there is a fine print.