Broken

You think it's an ordinary Sunday afternoon.  You think you can just put the baby in the grass and watch your big kid ride his bike around the yard.  And then you watch him ride through the front yard with the intention of riding up the driveway.  You realize this a bit too late, as he loses control of his bike that is just a touch too big for him, and you watch helplessly as he is suddenly zipping down the hill of your front yard, heading straight for the road, and then there's a green cable box in front of him and you watch him bail.  And you run down to him and carry him back up to the baby and just hold him for a while because he's crying too much to make any sense.  And then it's not really an ordinary Sunday afternoon any more.

Except you kind if wonder if there's really anything wrong.  He still plays.  He still swings.  He still climbs the slide.  He still pretends to ride the lawnmower, and he shows his baby sister how to do the same.

And then Monday morning your husband does some arm checking, and you are told that your big kid cries when asked to straighten his arm.  So you take him to the pediatrician.  Who says he probably ought to go for x-rays.  And you can't take both kids, because there's no way in hell the baby needs to be in the x-ray room.  And thankfully your husband kicks ass and comes home from work and takes him to the hospital for x-rays.  And you wait all afternoon for the results, and you don't quite let the information sink in when the ped's office calls and says yes, it's broken, here's the info, please call an orthopaedic in the morning.  And then you look it up.  And the more you read about it the more you worry.  What if he needs surgery?  We're going on vacation next week.  At a goddamn lake house, where he was planning on spending the week swimming.  How does one do that with a broken arm?

So Tuesday you call the local fantastic amazing children's hospital where both the kids have visited before.  And you get an appointment.  And it's not til later, so you still take the big kid to his dentist appointment in the morning.  And the dentist wonders why the broken armed kid is there with nary a splint on his arm.  No matter.  The big kid is awesome, and you are so proud.  And then you ship him off to the hospital with his dad and wait to hear if he is going to need surgery or just a cast.  And you are so relieved to hear it's just a cast.  And just for 3 weeks.  And hooray for fantastic husband who went to work and got some waterproof casting material and took it to the hospital with him, so the big kid can still at least swim in the swimming pool and take a bath and a shower.  Still no lake, because lakes have too many cooties.

And now you're exhausted.  And you didn't really even do anything.  Except worry about your big kid.  And wish to hell your baby's runny nose would stop running already, dammit, it's been 8 days and you sure do wish she'd be able to breathe already.

And that's how things go when your big kid breaks his arm.  Actually, his elbow.  His right elbow.  He should be totally fine.