Eight stitches for Susan
Last night I took Susan to the hospital to get stitches for a cut on her forehead. She and Sally were playing behind the sofa chair. Following Sally's instruction to pull the chair out a little, I didn't realize Susan was perched on top, and she came quickly tumbling down, hitting her head on the windowsill ledge.
Going to the hospital with one of my kids is always an unsettling experience. To hold her little hand while she cried and cried as the surgeon stitched her up -- it tugged on my heart. I don't get too many experiences with my children in the hospital. I believe it's one of those times where I really, really appreciate my kids. I realize how fragile life is, and how precious my little family is.
Now that we're back home and things have somewhat returned to normal, I'm back to putting her in time out and telling her to return to her room (at bedtime). But that moment while we were in the hospital -- just me and her, each of us pretending to be the doctor while waiting for the real doctor, raising and lowering the hospital bed like it was a circus ride -- it was loads of fun. Susan has such a funny, playful attitude. Kids love to pretend. She kept wanting to be the doctor, holding a little notepad and asking me questions about what happened. I made up bogus stories about a cat attacking me.
Now Spot is sick with the flu, and Sally bonked her tooth at school. I hope we don't all come down with the flu or end up crippled by tripping on toys. But if we do, it might be one of those experiences that brings us together.
