A bump in the road
Lily will reach the official 16 month mark tomorrow, and I’m proud to report that she managed to make it through 486 days of life outside the womb without sustaining any real injuries.
Correction: almost 486 days.
And we might have made it all the way to 487 (at least! We were on such a roll!), except that an evening last week– one that began with a normal, boring trip to the grocery store–ended with an unexpected emergency room excursion. And while I was able to keep it together that night– through tears and x-rays and the vision of my sweet girl in a teeny-tiny sling covered in multicolored dinosaurs– I totally lost my stuff when she started to show some major improvements.
As far as we can tell, she’s fine now; the “nursemaid’s elbow” that occurred after a mishap near the H.E.B meat counter was corrected by the kind intern (or supervising doctor, or Lily’s pediatrician, or maybe it just magically fixed itself– we can’t be sure, because no telltale back-into-place “pop” was ever confirmed), and she’s finally able to hug her favorite stuffed cat with both hands again.
But in spite of the chaos, there’s an (unfamiliar) piece of me that feels a little relieved. I know that probably sounds strange, especially coming from someone as anxious as I often am, but I’ve spent an awful lot of time wondering how we were going to handle this first major uh-oh. And the truth is, it wasn’t nearly as bad as we anticipated it might be. In fact, Lily did such an excellent job of not freaking out that we had no choice but to follow suit.
Now that she’s totally back to her usual silly antics (and endless rounds of hokey pokey-ing), Dmitri and I are both trying to get back on the proverbial horse as well. We’re still worriers, of course; I’m pretty sure that will never change. But we’re a little more confident, as well– in her ability to bounce back, and also in our own.
So thanks again, little Lily– lesson learned. But don’t mind if I hug you–over and over again– with both hands.