When I arrived at child care yesterday to pick up the kids everyone was in a tizzy. I had been out getting my thrice-yearly haircut/highlights and the batteries on my cell phone were dead--where is that charger anyway?--so when the director tried to call me, she couldn't reach me.
So the first words I heard were "there was an accident but he's okay." We went to Opie's classroom and he was his usual smiley, chirpy self. He immediately noticed my haircut. "You got a haircut Mommy! Looks pwetty!" Why yes son, and no more grays! You would never have known there'd been an incident except for the fact that a patch of his own hair, plus the back of one of his ears, was all bloody.
Just a half-hour before, a toy had fallen off a low shelf and gashed open my boy's scalp. It looked nasty but I could see that he was recovering fine. No concussion, no lingering pain, and he was both brilliant and sensitive enough to compliment my hair! Most grown, uninjured men can't manage that.
Among the daycare team recommendations for follow-up were divided. Two votes for "take him for stitches" and two for "he'll be fine." We had to hustle out the door for Jo's gymnastics class; it was her final one for the session otherwise I might've skipped it. There I consulted two more moms, friends whose kids are also in the class. Another split decision.
With the score tied 3-3, I called the after-hours nurse when we got home. Guess what she said? "It's up to you whether you want to take him in." Thanks so much. Finally she offered to page the doctor.
At last, a definitive answer! No office visit, no stitches, not even a bandage. This morning he has a cruddy-looking scab but it's entirely hidden under his hair.
Minor crisis, averted.