Like mother, like sons...

It has been said that Gavin, and Jack for that matter, have my grace and coordination. That's not a compliment. I am about as uncoordinated and ungraceful as they come. Jack, the uncoordinated jerk, and Gavin, the unbalanced boy, don't make a very good team. This team collided Tuesday night and resulted in our first trip to the Emergency room. Tuesday was a great day, so the three of us were going to go for a run. As we were all making our mass exodus out of the bedroom, Jack ran in front of Gavin and knocked him down (the third time that day!) After harshly scolding Jack, I tended to Gavin. He was on his hands and knees crying pretty hard. I picked him up, and he immediately put his head down on my shoulder. When I put him down, he cried and had difficulty walking. I palpated his legs and feet to see if anything was hurting...no reaction. So, I scooped him up, and we went on our run. We went on with the night as usual. It was only when I was giving Gavin his bath that I noticed the giant, quarter size black and blue LUMP on his head! No wonder he was acting so out of it!!! I put him to bed and consulted my baby bible, Baby 411. After reading the section "Trauma", I decided to call the on call pediatrician. He called back and scared the bejesus out of me! He said he thought Gavin had a concussion, and I should wake him up and take him to the ER for a CT scan. Thank God Barbara was here because Gary was out of town, and I was a wreck! To make a long story short, we went to the ER where he was checked out by the nurse practitioner and the ER doctor who both said he seemed fine, and they wouldn't do a CT scan. Whew...

I fully blame the nurse at my pediatrician's office. When we went for our 12 month check up, she was so surprised that Gavin hadn't landed in the ER yet. The next day started what I will refer to as "hell week". First, I lock my son in the car (read previous post for details). Then, as I was opening a box for Gavin, he loses his balance and falls chin first onto the corner of the box resulting in an ugly, bloody scratch. And then, our trip to the ER.

I guess I should really just blame goofy genetics. I have to prepare myself for a lifetime of bumps, bruises and possibly broken bones...especially since I have a boy.