Monday night our son came home from the grandparents’ house. He’d spent the night because our daughter had a friend over to spend the night and there was just a little bit too much giggling that was going to happen. He gladly called his grandparents at 5pm Sunday night and said, “Can I spend the night, pleeeaaseee?”
Monday he found himself at a movie with the folks and home in the early evening with suspicious looking “bite marks” on his finger. My dad had called me prior to the return of said child, to warn me. My son walked in to show me his finger, now swollen, telling me it hurt. This is not our first time with the swollen finger and unknown origin.
What struck me on Monday night (this go round) is that I wasn’t panicked. I didn’t even question what needed to be done. I wasn’t at all nervous or scared. I knew he’d need IV antibiotics. I knew we’d stay overnight (hence the packing of the bag) and I wasn’t at all feeling freaked out (that’s a medical term, eh?). I joke about packing that bag each time we hit the ER, but if I don’t we will surely be admitted. It’s my un-tempting fate.
I don’t know, I guess it’s the years of ER visits for two kids and it’s the knowing that we’re in this boat for a long time. It’s knowing that this wasn’t (isn’t) our worst nightmare. It’s our everyday existence. Dare I say, it’s our normal.
I wonder if that is bad or good? Am I realistic or resigned? Hopeful or not? Probably a lot of all of those mixed together.
What kind of mother I am? Have I given in to reality or is it a good thing to have accepted these unexpected little bumps like they are an everyday occurrence?
That’s my reality today. What’s yours? What have you accepted?