Yesterday was Embee's eleventh birthday. My mind is blown. She was four, when Chadski and I started dating. Now, she is eleven. How did that even happen??
While searching for a small gift for Embee (she got all her gifts last weekend, but I decided we should give her something small on her actual birthday), we ended up at TJMaxx. We found an electronic basketball hoop. It hangs on the back of a door and is interactive.
Lately, we've been playing with the suction cup hoop on the back of our door. A lot. I'm not so good. Chadski is decent. Weewee is the best rebound girl ever. We have fun. Why we didn't just buy the electronic hoop, I don't know.
At around 7 pm last night, I was crawling into the car, and going to buy our hoop. The hoop we should've bought earlier in the afternoon. It was fine. I bought it and home it came.
Chadski masterfully assembled it, with a bit of help from Weewee, and we were shooting hoops in no time. We were having fun. Weewee was having fun. In the midst of her fun and excitement, Weewee started to do her twirling, and she was really into it. Twirling is new for her. She's only been doing it for a few weeks. She loves it. It's fun to watch, and her joy is infectious.
So, here we are... a joyous basketball playing, twirling family... and then it happened. Weewee fell. She fell hard, face/forehead first, into her wooden toy box. The sound isn't something I'll forget anytime soon.
I screamed. Chadski scooped her up. She cried. I hyperventilated. It was horrible. She had a huge bump on her forehead, and it was bright read. Chadski put frozen peas on it. I held her.
I was so scared. I'm a new mom. I don't trust myself. So, I called Nana Cici for backup. Since she didn't answer, we headed over to her house. She met us at the door, and went into Doctor Nana mode. We decided to treat it with frozen peas and keep her awake for a bit.
We returned home and Chadski kept her occupied, while I sat and watched her like a hawk. Then she puked. Then I panicked. Her doctor was called. The on call physician was contacted. We waited for a call back. We finally were told to bring her to the ER. The puking could be normal, or it could be a sign of something horrible.
We went to the ER. Waited and waited and waited. The doctor was fabulous, and I'm not just saying that, because he said Weewee was genuinely one of the most beautiful babies he's ever seen.
He was thorough and calm. I think he knew I was a mess inside. He calmed me and kept me informed. We finished her observation, received our instructions, and came home.
Being out until 3:15 in the morning is far from our norm. Chadski and Weewee went to bed. I stayed up for hours, watching Weewee closely. Finally, I slept.
So far so good. She woke up in a good mood. Ate breakfast like normal. She seems fine. I'm grateful. I'm sure one day, I'll tell her the story about the bump she got on Embee's eleventh birthday. I'm sure we may even laugh. For today, I'll hug her tight and remain grateful.