In all the joy of the holidays, I forgot about my day as the World's Worst Mother Ever. Twas the Friday before Christmas, and I was braving the craziness of the dollar store with four wired children in tow. There were hyped up on all the sugar they devoured during their holiday parties at school. That was my first mistake.
While I was not-so-patiently waiting for Jeremy to pick some non-candy, non-toy item in the store, I turned my back on Spencer, who was riding in the basket part of the cart rather than the seat. That was the second mistake. In my defense, that boy will not stay strapped into a cart seat, so it's just as dangerous relying on worn cart straps to keep him safe. Anyway, by now you've probably figured out he took a header out of the cart. When I turned around, he was face down on the floor. Of course, there were a few people in the aisle who witnessed my horrible parenting. Fortunately, after much crying, he calmed down and only had a huge golf ball size goose egg on his forehead, which continued to remind me of my failings as a mother.
But wait...that's not the end of the story.
Ten minutes later I was trying to get all the kids loaded in the van, so I could go home and pretend I didn't leave my baby unattended in the basket of the cart. Anna climbed into the passenger seat, while Jack grabbed the divider between the passenger door and the sliding door to climb around me into the van. And as luck would have it, she shut the door while his hand was still on the divider. Amazingly, the door shut firmly while his hand was still in there. I still cringe thinking about it.
After a stop at Sonic to get a bag of ice, cherry cokes and cheddar bites, I got Jack settled at home with a pain reliever and a bag of ice. By the time D got home, poor Jack's hand, especially between the thumb and pointer finger, had become very swollen. After consulting with our neighbor who is finishing nursing school, we decided to take him to the urgent care clinic.
By some miracle, this is only the second time we've had to go to an after hours clinic or ER. Jack was quite the trooper through it all, placing his hand exactly as instructed during the x-ray and charming the nurses. The final diagnosis was bruised cartilage -- no broken bones. They put a splint on his hand that was almost as big as his head and sent us home.
And that, my friends, should qualify me for the World's Worst Mother Award.