From talking to other mother's of sons I hear it is a Rite of Passage. However, not one I want to do again anytime soon. Today I took my baby, 17 months, to the emergency room to get 3 stitches.
I feel like a horrible mom. He was doing something he does often and something he always gets in trouble for - he was standing on the kitchen chair rocking it back and forth: front legs, back legs, front legs, back legs. Normally I hear the noise of the chair and before he gets it going fast I intervene - sometimes he is put in his room, usually he stops when I ask him to. Each time I tell him, "don't do that or you will fall and have to go to the hospital". Well this time I was right - but I sure didn't want to be right.
I heard the crash and the cry. I thought for sure he just needed to be comforted, but then I saw the blood and the bulging wound under his chin. I don't know how I knew, especially since I have never had the least bit of health trouble, but I saw the cut and knew he needed stitches. It was weird to have that knowledge and not know why. But then I started to panic. Who do I call? I calmed down long enough to find the doctor's phone number and find out what to do.
I rushed around and packed a lunch and toys for the kids for the long ER wait and we rushed off to the hospital. It was a great visit. There was no wait and the staff was understanding of two toddlers during naptime.
But then we needed the stitches. . . . I held my little boys head still while the nurse held his arms and the intern held his legs. The doctor warned us as she injected the chin with a numbing agent, "A little prick and a burn. Mom, can you do this?" I assured her I could. My boys eyes widened with fear as the needle went in and then his body tensed up with the burn. I started to cry! He was looking at me with this, 'please help me, mommy'-look. It was heartbreaking. I choked down tears as she stuck him two more times!
Then she told us that it was time for the stitches, but he shouldn't feel a thing. And I don't think he did. I think he was just scared about being held down by strangers. He screamed and cried the whole time. I tried singing, but it didn't help. Near the end his left little eye was looking at me, pleading, "ma, ma, ma" he would repeat over and over. I was strong. I told him he was doing a good job. It was so hard.
As soon as we let go of him he rolled onto his tummy, scooted to the floor, and walked out the door and down the hall. My daughter followed him. Apparently he was done with the hospital. We spent the remainder of the time in a waiting room with a television.
When we got home and pulled into the driveway and the kids were asleep I just sobbed. My poor little man. He was so scared and unhappy and I just had to hold him down. Obviously he is fine, even my daughter is fine. The stitches will be out in 10 days and after a good nap he forgot about the band-aid and spent the rest of the day playing. I even had to retrieve him from another rocking kitchen chair and the top of the nightstand. I guess he doesn't learn.
So I have joined the ranks of all the mom's of boys in the world. We have made our first ER visit, probably not our last. We are no worse for it and no better. I just wish he had been a little older.