She fell out of bed on Saturday night. It was about 11pm and I had just dozed off after downing some Benadryl to help with a nasty bug bite on my leg. I didn't think it was anything major until I saw her blood soaked pillowcase. Stifled screams to Rick to wake up and meet me in the bathroom to assess the damage. There was no discussion, this would require stitches, it was just a matter of where.
Options are limited at 11 on a Saturday night and nothing will rouse you from a Benadryl haze like a blood-soaked 5 year old. So off to the hospital Annie and I raced while John slept through the whole thing and Rick was left behind for CSI cleanup efforts (apparently "how to get blood stains out" was googled before we were even out of the driveway).
We arrived at the hospital and Annie knew stitches were likely on the agenda and was inconsolable, verging on going into shock. Strong drugs were administered to ease the pain, but probably more so to ease her heart, which was really scared. Once those kicked in, she was totally fine. Stitches are a breeze when you can't feel your face. A week without swimming in the hot St. Louis summer is a worse fate than the stitches themselves. But we will make it through.
And now I can cross "stitches" off my list of mandatory parenting experiences. While I knew it would like happen eventually, I really can't believe it was Annie and not John.
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