This morning, my three-year-old daughter apparently decided that, while she was waiting for me to wake up, she’d just go into the attic and jump around for a while. Only she accidentally jumped on the trap door in the attic floor. So I, sleeping in the room below, woke up to see her dropping from the ceiling onto the bedroom floor.
She’s okay, but has a really bad cut on her face. We spent a few hours in the local ER, and now she and my husband are enroute to a plastic surgeon at a different hospital, an hour and a half from here.
I am very, very grateful that it wasn’t a worse injury. She fell at least ten feet. The poor thing can’t eat or drink until after they stitch her up (they will have to sedate her), and I can’t imagine that they’ll get that done until 3 PM at the very soonest. Poor little baby. She is so beautiful, so little. I don’t know how mothers of heart patients and others deal with this. I keep thinking about her little body falling and hitting the floor, and I keep seeing that terrible breach in her soft little face. Anyway, she is okay, and going to be okay.
Grateful for good hospitals, excellent state insurance, kind nurses, cars that run, a husband who will know how to keep my baby happy and distracted, and no broken bones or apparent brain injury — not even a loose tooth.