Mama Said Knock You Out…

Addressed to Jonah. Yes. You read that right. Addressed to our just-shy-of-20-month old, Jonah. And I realized, just how far behind I am on blogging. As I’ve shared recently, we’ve had a few things going on in our neck of the woods, some I’ve blogged about…some I’ve started blogs about and have yet to publish. So, before I blog about me going back to work part-time, or about Jonah getting tubes in and adenoids out, or about Jonah starting speech, I should catch you up to speed on why you should listen to people who say you should never put your child on the counter.

In early December, Jonah and I were prepping lunch while B was at pre-school. Jonah was still somewhat in his crabby-pants-must-be-held-or-I’ll-make-you-hate-your-life phase and so, as usual, after I tired of doing all the cooking with one arm, I set him on the counter. Actually, to be exact, I set him on the island. Toward the center. And less than a minute later, I turned to watch him topple right off. And if I’m being completely honest, this is not the first time the kid had been on the counter. And it wasn’t the only time he’d fallen. Because Jonah is a bruiser. He runs into walls that are permanently placed. He’s fallen down our stairs multiple times. He’s just {or at least, was prior to tubes} a little bit of a weeble.

And so, he fell…

But this was not a little crash to the ground onto his bum…nope, instead, his face broke his fall. And he didn’t cry. And he didn’t move once he hit the tile. I immediately picked him up and held him to me but he was out cold. I left the pizza supplies out, the tv on, and ran out the door with him. I knew he needed to be seen. He wasn’t crying but instead was making a sound that I can only liken to something you might hear from a wounded animal and his eyes were shut tight. I tried to talk to him but he wouldn’t respond. I called our pediatrician’s office, which is less than 2 minutes from our house and they told me (following playing 101 questions) to bring him in (which was handy as I was waiting in the parking lot). Jonah finally cried when I picked him out of the car seat but then seemed to fall back asleep. This vacillation between awake and asleep, responsive and unresponsive, continued throughout the exam. I swore. Yep. I cried big, terrified tears. Yep. I asked, over and over through sobs, “Why isn’t he responding?”. And while his vitals all actually seemed okay, they determined we would need further tests. Because he kept passing out. Tests. To make sure there was no internal bleeding.

Now, there are two words you never, ever picture hearing in reference to your baby. Internal. Bleeding.

So, I drove him to Children’s. I called Adam. I called my dad. I called my sister. I called my friend. I wanted prayers. As many prayers, thoughts, good vibes as possible…that’s what I wanted. And all the while, Jonah was blacked out. I truly believed it was badness. Like the kind of badness that you read about in the newspaper or hear about on TV and you say to yourself,  “Why would anyone put their baby on the counter?”. Bad. Ness.

After arriving at Children’s, Adam and Barrett arrived to meet us. I sat there with puffy, glassy eyes, and a splotchy face holding Jonah and intermittently having flashes of him hooked up to machines in a hospital bed and then me doing jail time. It’s a good thing I don’t have an imagination.

We first had a CT Scan to check for bleeding. Almost two hours later, we had an X-Ray of his collar bone, arm, and neck. By that time, Jonah was somewhat back to his usual antics and in fact, fell off one of the child-sized chairs in the waiting room. And almost an hour after that, we got the news that he was okay. It had been a concussion. That’s why he’d been lights out. He’d had his bell rung.

It was a horrible day. They say that every day may not be good but there is something good in every day. The goodness finally came when we knew Jonah came out unscathed, overall. And while I’ve held my children tight to me on many occasions, that day as I held Jonah tight, I attempted to transfer all of my faith onto him. Because there was nothing else I could do. It’s crazy that as a parents of little ones, we live moments of our children’s lives that they will never even remember or attach a feeling to. We will surely tell the story of that day to Jonah over and over throughout his lifetime and every time we share it, we will feel the same emotions we felt that day. And to him, it will just be a story.

But luckily, the pamphlet gives me proof. Proof that I am, once again, Mother of the Year. Proof that I will save for safe keeping:). Proof that, perhaps, I shouldn’t put my children on the counter.