stitches

On Tuesday, the delightful Miss Lil- 3.8 years of fun, sweet, smart, sometimes punky but always spunky cuteness- busted her chin.  Her momma had just been ushered into the exam room for her final baby-check prior to the much-anticipated due date of Spiderman, aka Lillian's little brother, when she got the call. 

"Wah wah wah wah your daughter, wah wah wah nothing to be alarmed about, wah wah wah wah bleeding, wah wah wah wah come get her," said the voice on the other end.

As I drove to the hospital ER to meet them, I couldn't help but think back to a Wednesday night more than 25 years ago when I was summoned from my spot in the alto section right during the middle of choir practice due to the fact that Lil's future mom had decided it would be great fun to swing between two tables down in the child care room.  Which it probably was until her hands slipped and she busted her chin open on the floor and proceeded to bleed all over her cute shoes, herself  and everyone else who was anywhere close.

"Wah wah wah sure does bleed a lot, and  wah wah  probably need to take her for stiches," someone said.

Which I eventually did, since after all she was my child and her daddy was conveniently out of town that night.  Convenient for him maybe, but not so much for me, who sped alone to the nearest Urgent Care facility in the dark of night with his bleeding child in tow.  I will spare the details except to say that she was not the brave little soldier I had hoped she would be upon arrival.  As I recall, it took about 6 of us, not counting the doctor or her daddy who, did I already mention was not in town that night, to hold her down so her chin could be sewn back together.  So much screaming, crying, thrashing and carrying on that child did that we were all worn smooth by the time it was over.  But somehow in the midst of the melee a few stitches were applied, and we were finally released into the night.

As we headed home from this hellish ordeal I, for my part, was in serious need of tranquilizers, a fist full of B vitamins and a big venti-sized glass or two of wine.  As I only had the latter at home, I was prepared to settle. But at the moment, my mother's heart was filled mostly with anxious concern over the well-being of the poor, sniffling child huddled in the darkness of my car's back seat. It had been so awful. Would she be scarred for life both physically and emotionally?  Would she hate me for standing by while she suffered at the hands of white-coated strangers?  These were the questions racing through my mind as we made our way home, when suddenly, from the back seat I heard her husky little voice...

"Momma?"

"Yes, sweetie?" I answered.

"I had a good time at the doctor's office."