Hard-headed

Zoey spent two days in the 3-year-old class at preschool this week. It was (mostly) a huge success.

Apparently she ate well, slept well, and followed right along with the kids and the routine in her newer, bigger surroundings. And, because diapers are a no-no in this new class, she napped in her big girl panties and--I'm assuming, because she came home in the same clothes she started the day in--she stayed dry. My little girl is getting so big!

Tragedy, however, struck yesterday. I received the following message on my cell phone while at work, around 4:30:

'Hi, Amy. This is Ms. Nicole, Zoey's new teacher. (At this point I'm thinking, 'aww, it's nice that she's calling to give me a report on how Zoey is doing in her class.') First, I just want you to know that Zoey is really FINE. (Oh no.) But she was walking around the wooden ledge on the playground today, and she tripped and fell over backwards. She has a pretty big goose-egg on the back of her head, but she stopped crying and we put ice on it. (Oh Lord.) We're keeping a close eye on her, but she seems perfectly okay. I just thought you'd want to know. Feel free to give us a call if you have any questions!'

It just figures that my kid would fall off the big playground--that sacred space that required so much growing and getting big to make it to--her second day there.

Anyway, I called to check on her, and she was playing happily with puzzles at the moment. (I was only slightly disappointed, as I had secretly hoped this would be my excuse to leave work a little early.) By the time I made it to daycare at 5:45, she was still quite happy and yes, she had a gigantic lump on the back of her head. Hmmm.

I was thinking on my way home--what is it you're supposed to do if you suspect your child might have a mild concussion? I mean, we've weathered plenty of scrapes, scratches, bruises and even a broken bone, but I couldn't remember Zoey ever having such a large knot on her head. And doesn't it seem, lately, that you hear an awful lot about people bumping their heads, thinking nothing of it, going about their business...only to be admitted to the ICU the following day, unconscious, with swelling around the brain? (Do all mothers immediately jump to these conclusions, or is it only because I'm a nurse?)

Anyway. A quick phone call to Oma confirmed that I should look for the following signs/symptoms of concussion: nausea and/or vomiting, or excessive sleepiness. She also suggested that I wake Zoey up a couple times that night, just to make sure she was coherent and knew who I was. No problem! We had just finished dinner and Zoey had cleaned her plate--no upset tummy, apparently. And excessive sleepiness? Yeah. Right. I wish.

Fast forward to 8:15 p.m.

Zoey and I are lounging on the couch, muddling through the bedtime routine. We're halfway through the second Berenstain Bears book on our list, and I look down at her in my lap to find...she has completely passed out, binky half-hanging out her mouth, lightly snoring.

Great.

THE ONE NIGHT SHE CHOOSES TO SUCCUMB TO BEDTIME EASILY IS THE ONE NIGHT I FEEL LIKE I SHOULD BE MONITORING HER FOR SWELLING AROUND HER LITTLE BRAIN.

Believe me, people, I wanted nothing more than to go to bed when she did. To say my ass was dragging after four work days in a row would be the understatement of the year. But I layed her down in her beloved little nest of bricks (the Pack N Play) and went downstairs where I forced myself to stay up long enough to watch an episode of No Reservations. While I love love love Anthony Bourdain, it was all I could do to keep my eyes open through the episode. (It was 9:15 when the show was over. I know. Pathetic.)

So, back upstairs to wake up my little darling and make sure her pupils were equal and round, and to check and see if she remembered who her Mommy is. Anyway, since she had passed out prematurely in my lap, I didn't even have time to get her in to a diaper--so I had to change her anyway.

She was groggy when I woke her up, but coherent enough to reassure me she wasn't suffering from brain damage. I asked if she wanted to sleep in her crib again and she told me no (surprisingly) and asked to go to her bed. Which is where she stayed for about two hours, before joining us in our bed and proceeding to kick the living shit out of us for the rest of the night, which meant little sleep for either Bryan or I, but at least I was certain her brain was okay.

And now I can check "Monitor for Possible Concussion" off my Mommy list of childhood owies I have successfully managed.