Last week — Wednesday, I think — The Who stubbed his toe. Or his foot. Or maybe banged his knee. I’m not sure, actually, because he was on the other side of the bed and I could only see him from the waist up when some loud cracking noise happened and then he went down into a crumpled heap of sadness. When he recovered, we wiggled all his toes and pushed around his whole foot and ankle to see if anything was exceptionally painful, but nothing was and so we carried on with the bedtime routine that we were in the middle of. (For the record, the bulk of his injuries happen right near bedtime. Despite knowing that he is accident-prone when he is tired, we can’t seem to keep him out of harm’s way entirely. Witness: the big purple lump on his eyebrow from a one-step tumble last night.)
Getting out of his bed Thursday morning, he complained of his toe hurting him when he walked, but again, we didn’t see anything and nothing hurt to touch and he seemed recovered within an hour, but then Friday morning, I noticed him sort of favoring his right foot. More toe-wiggling and careful watching, but again within an hour, he seemed back to normal. Saturday and Sunday and even Monday seemed fine and I mostly forgot about it until this morning, when he was clearly limping. He was still joyfully running around, but he was definitely guarding his right foot (toes?) I sent him on many little errands (“Can you put this in the diaper pail?”) so I could observe him walking many steps and decided that a quick visit to the pediatrician was in order.
Ha! Gotcha! There is no such thing as a “quick” visit to our pediatrician.
Fortunately, I have the World’s Most Cooperative ToddlerTM (especially when I am well-prepared with snacks, toys, and BlackBerry apps) and although we spent the better part of 4 hours in that building, the closest we came to any kind of meltdown was when I threw away some of his Cheerios that had fallen on the floor. (I just pretended to take them out of the trash and pretended to put them back in his cup. Problem solved.)
The Who is a charmer, man. He had everyone in that office chatting and smiling as he limped around like he owned the joint.
Giggling and running into the front office, even softening Miss Lucille, the often-grumpy receptionist. He climbed on and off the scale, ducked into all the examination rooms, chattering at the crying babies, and told anyone who would listen (med students, residents, nurses, other parents) about the firetruck we saw on the way to the office, its great hood hydraulically lifting for some kind of maintenance.
The doc ordered an x-ray just to be sure, although we all doubted anything was really broken. (How could he be so joyous with a broken bone? Of course, we’ve all seen stranger things, which is why I was there in the first place.) So, after a pit-stop for lunch, we made our way down to the bowels of the hospital in search of Outpatient Radiology.
We walked. And waited. And registered. And walked. And waited some more.
Finally, got the pictures taken. I wore a stunning turquoise lead apron for my role as “foot holder” and The Who held a red lead blanket over his lap as he skeptically eyed the nurse taping his toes to the film.
And there you have it: Baby’s First X-Ray. We’ll have to wait and see what the results are, but in the meantime, the patient is resting comfortably, a belly full of Cheerios and a morning full of adventure.