The day we brought the Little Miss home from the hospital, exactly 24 hours after delivery, daddy and not-quite-2-year-old-Cole were playing and bouncing on our bed. Meanwhile, I was on the couch involved in one of many marathon nursing sessions. A few minutes after the play began, I heard a thump and much crying from the little boy. When daddy carried him out, blood was pouring from his head.
Grandma and Daddy loaded him up, took him to the ER, and brought him home with 3 staples in his head. I stayed on the couch with the 24 hour old baby and cried my eyes out.
8 years have passed since then and except for routine doctor appointments and one scheduled tubes/adnenoid surgery, Cole has needed little medical care.
And then this happened.
Cole and daddy were on the farm early in the day, gearing up for a long day of harvest. The last day of harvest for the year. They were making feed for the cattle, as most mornings begin. Daddy was scooping ground corn to put into the feed mixer. Unfortunately, Cole leaned in to get a scoop just as Daddy was lifting his shovel up.
Forehead? Meet shovel.
When Daddy raced up the road in the truck, carrying a crying Cole through the door, I assumed he had gotten in trouble and was being dropped off. (You see, spending time with mommy on the weekend is the worst punishment he can receive.) Imagine my surprise when he turned around and his entire face was covered in blood!
After an initial gasp, I took him into the bathroom and cleaned him up. The gash was small but pretty deep. I took him into urgent care, blood all over his coat, his lips blue from the children's Advil I gave him on the way.
Several numbing shots (OUCH!) and 2 stitches later, we were on our way to the local farm supply store for a new John Deere combine toy for my very brave boy.
He's excited to show off his war wounds at school tomorrow. And I am very relieved it wasn't any worse!