Quantity time

I got to spend 3 hours of quantity time with Max this afternoon. I dare say it was even QUALITY TIME, just him and I. And everyone else working or waiting in the ER. This time it was the hospital one town west of here, the very same one Max was born in.

I headed out there for lunch with my cousin and her kids at her parents house. (Got all that?) Then we three ladies headed to the park to let the kids play before the others headed back home to the big city, and before I took my boys across the street where Paul was going to join us for our 19-week baby ultrasound. Five minutes before I was to report in the clinic, I gathered my chicks and we headed off. It was so close. Max swung open the gate from the park. Here's the problem. The gate didn't swing as far as either of us expected. It stopped. He didn't. Well, he did stop a nano-second later. One nano-second too late. He banged his head on the vertical bar of the gate. At first I didn't think it was too bad, but he was doing that kind of cry where he doesn't really breathe, just has his face all crazy and freaky and, clearly, in a great deal of pain. I pulled up the brim of his hat to see a puncture wound just above his brow. Where could a 1/4 inch round hole in his head have come from? I inspected the gate and found there are several bolts keeping the fencing attached to the post, and they protrude a great deal. Just the right length past the main bar to do some serious damage to whatever flesh, bone or eyeball may come in its way.

I called for Melea, a mama and a nurse to boot, and she winced. We just weren't too sure about the looks of this ... well, as I said ... hole in my boy's head. He instinctively pulled his hat down to cover the wound and kept pressure on to slow the blood flow. That was helpful. Melea walked with me across to the ultrasound clinic where Paul was soon to meet us. Max calmed down fairly well, and after we all ooo'd and aaa'd at our little baby inside me (who looks to be doing just fine, Midwife appointment tomorrow will tell me the details, but likely not gender info till next week) we decided that I would accompany Max to the ER. Paul parked his work truck and took Marty in the van to get most of the groceries for Max's big birthday bash tomorrow evening. The wait wasn't too excruciating, apart from Max's ever-active curiosity about all things within sight. We had a few snuggles, read lots of stories, and did lots of waiting. A nurse came to put some freezing gel on his wound, should he need to undergo any stitching. I hoped and hoped this wouldn't be the case. The doctor finally came to assess the situation and discuss the options. Upon mentioning the word "stitch", Max freaked out, and would have none of the conversation. The Dr. deemed that a stitch wouldn't really improve the final outcome, (the size and visibility of a scar) so we took plan B. It was brilliant. A Band-Aid, folks. A Band-Aid. The nurse who came to apply the topical antibacterial ointment and Band-Aid even patronized me a little bit for being there just to get a Band-Aid. I asked her not to make me feel silly for bringing him in. You just never know. When it first happened, it literally looked like what a hole punch would do to paper. Perfectly round cookie cutter hole in his head. Poor boy.

So three hours and one - ahem, Band-Aid - later, we were free. Paul & Mart met us in the parking lot and we headed to our home town to meet up with the boys from Prince Rupert who had just arrived with our bouncy castles. What? Our bouncy castles? I'm sure I've mentioned them a time or two before. An update to come on that situation soon!

Good night for now. Birthday pictures coming soon!