It is true that Moms overreact.
Not all moms. But, this one does. And only when the occasion calls for it:
A closed Starbucks when I really need caffeine.
When my kids get injured.
The latter is what led to one of the most embarrassing days EVERRRRRRR. It happened a good 8 years ago, and I’m sure the people who witnessed the incident are still seeing a therapist.
At the time, we were just a family of 3. Husband, toddler son and I. We had traveled for a long weekend getaway with extended family to one of those theme-parks-that-kids-love-and-parents-tolerate. Everyone was having a great time, despite the crowds and one too many sweaty people. We decided to take in the water park and grab some sun near the kiddie wading area.
What could go wrong when the water is only knee-deep and tiny little arms are engulfed in Disney floaties bigger than their heads?
My son fell.
Not even sure how it happened, but blood was running down his foot. He had cut his ankle and I as a mother handled it by:
TOTALLY. FREAKING. OUT.
I was sure he needed over 900 stitches and would never walk again. With no time to waste, I threw him over my shoulder, yelled for my husband to grab our stuff and took off sprinting like an Olympian, hurdling the lounges occupied by every hairy-backed man in Indiana.
My son had his arms wrapped around my neck and held on for dear life. I knew I had minutes to spare before he would need a blood transfusion, and nearly trampled two siblings with freshly-made snocones.
The sight of a First Aid sign was pure relief, and I wasn’t about to knock on the door or walk in and take a number. I had an injured kid. We were cutting in line and wouldn’t be making apologies. Those with bee stings and splinters would have to wait.
Inside were 3 EMT’s, and fortunately no patients. I practically threw my son in their arms as if we were playing a game of hot potato, and blurted out something like:
‘Here! He’s hurt. Blood. Ankle. Stitches!’ You know, something easy to understand that cut to the chase and made me sound uber intelligent.
Yet they just stared at me. Mouths open, in disbelief. Which is about the time I realized that as I ran like a crazed banshee to get help, my bathing suit top had unraveled at the neck.
And dropped down.
My husband came stumbling in soon after with wide-eyes and tossed me a towel, as I stood there reminding myself that I will never see these people again and surely this has happened before. Probably not, but I also convince myself that others drive off with their cordless phone on top of their car.
They do, right?
My son was too young to remember, not just the sight, but that his mother didn’t handle the situation with a whole lotta grace. All that and he merely needed some stupid butterflies to patch it up and stop the bleeding.
We laugh about it now. Proof that some moms overreact. We have good intentions, and if anything, it goes to show we love our kids.
My ‘toddler’ is now 11 and asks about the visible scar. I spare him the details, as I’m fairly certain the EMT’s were scarred, too.
In a different way.