The one where I almost broke my baby's leg

It's been gorgeous here. I guess it's super pretty in most places, but for St. Louis to have even one pretty day in the winter is unheard of. So days in the high 50's, early 60's have made me giddy.

A new park was just built directly across the street from the boys' school, so each day when I pick them up, we head over for a while. Both boys absolutely love it and I keep telling myself it's not going to be this pretty for forever, so I'd better enjoy it while I can.

Yesterday, we went back to the park and were joined by my friend (hi, Jen!) and her little man, who is about G's age. Jen is pregnant, so I told her I'd take both boys down the ginormous slide together. Great idea, right? Well, the first few times were full of giggles and squeals, signing "more" and yelling, "go!"

And then there was a third time, during which G's shoe got caught between my hip and the slide. We kept going, but his leg didn't. When we got to the bottom, he let out the saddest, most painful scream I've ever heard. I pulled off his shoe, and didn't notice anything. But when I set him down, he clearly couldn't put any weight on it.

And my heart broke into a million guilt-ridden pieces.

I called B, scooped L up, and we headed home. B, who has had more than his fair share of broken bones, checked it out, deemed it "probably not broken," but thought I should call the doctor's office just to get their opinion. (Like this nurse line frequent-flyer wouldn't call. Ha. Ha. Hahahaha.)

Fortunately, our pediatrician's office has just begun a pilot program which includes hours until 8 pm on weeknights. They told me to bring him in, and they'd x-ray him.

90 minutes later, after G wowed the nurses with his signs and shy smiles, I found myself holding him down on the x-ray table, softly singing "The Hot Dog Song" and "Tiny Tim," while wiping his tears. It was about as much fun as it sounded.

The good news is that I didn't break my kid's leg. The bad news is that I sprained it, and there's nothing I can do about it. The worse news was that he was up, crying, from 2 am to 5 am, and now, about 22 hours later, still isn't walking much. Cue the momma guilt. Needless to say, I stayed home with him today and we spent lots and lots of time cuddling.

I know full well that this won't be the last playground/swingset/skateboard/tree-climbing/etc accident, especially considering what a fearless little monkey this little guy is. And I'm sure even if I'm nowhere in the vicinity, the momma guilt will still kick in. I'm gonna need lots of wine to get through the next 20 years. Sigh...