Have You Ever Seen Cuter Metatarsals?

Last night we found ourselves traveling down one of those unexpected detours of life. One minute the kids are playing joyfully in the water feature at the park and the next minute another mom is asking if the crying blonde girl is mine. Yes - the fact that she was not actually in my line of sight when the accident occured is something I would be asked to admit several times over the next few hours to every doctor, every nurse and someone with the odd title of "registrar". Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but they all seemed to be asking for the same details over and over. What time did this happen? What was she doing when this happened? Where were you when it happened? Have you ever felt like abusing your child before today? Okay, the last one wasn't actually asked, but I knew what they were getting at. I mean, I understand why they need to ask these questions and I love that there is a saftey net for children in trouble, but it doesn't help me to not imagine all of them meeting in the break room later to compare notes on my story. 3:30? She told me 3:00. Call the authorities!

Actually the ER staff was great. They were very gentle and pleasant with Jamie and didn't even seem to mind her absolute hysterics during the X-ray procedure. Of course the technician will be telling friends and family the story of the little blonde two-year old who, in the middle of her mother tying to coax (wrestle) her onto the bed for X-rays, pulled free, looked her mother straight in the eye and proceeded to slap the very person who brought her into this world across the face. Yep, that's one for the dinner parties.

Other than this blatant act of maternal humiliation, Jamie was in surprisingly good spirits - until you tried to get her to stand. At which point she would pull up her foot and start calling for help in the most heart-breaking manner. Something along the lines of a wounded lamb with a pink bow and curls. But after three hours of singing nursery rhymes, too much poking and prodding from the doctor and the results of the X-rays, she was diagnosed with a sprain rather than any broken bones. So they wrapped her up in an ace bandage, gave her a couple stickers and sent us on our way with the adorable x-ray you see above. Today, Jamie still won't stand, but is at home with her doting father who is more than happy to wait on her hand and - foot.

Oh, and for those of you that noticed the latest twitter. . . . The triage nursed didn't want to send us back out into the waiting room to wait for a room so she asked if we needed to have a TV in our room. I said no so she escorted us to the end of the hall, into a small room and then ever so casually said, "I'll just prop this door open with a chair so it doesn't lock you inside." I looked around and noticed that the blinds for the window were on the outside and all the equipment in the room had the ability to be locked behind a metal gate. "You're putting us in the psych ward?" "It's a safe room", she clarified. "A psych room", I countered. "No, a SAFE room", she said again with a smile, arranging the chair in the door. How is it she knows us so well?