Monkey Bars Pretty Much Stink (to put it mildly)

We had quite the day yesterday! It's been a while since we've had one of those, so I knew it was coming. It started out good--Jazzercise with my girl, then right after, a PTO meeting at the park. Beautiful day, sunny, breezy, warm, not hot. My girls were playing on the playground, with the other PTO kiddos, whilst we went over fundraising and dates. Maybe fifteen minutes into it, O comes running over to tell me that A-girl fell off the monkey bars. Sure enough, fall she did.

Right away, I knew we were leaving and going to get her looked at. She was hurting and wouldn't move her arms. On the drive down, I kept thinking that I should just take her to Urgent Care, but I hate, hate, hate going to Urgent Care. So much. So much, that it's blogworthy (another day). I was trying the doctor first. Plus the Urgent Care was just across the street.

I knew it wasn't life threatening, as A-girl ripped up and down and this way and that the very idea of monkey bars everywhere, from the backseat. Blast them! If she were allowed to say the bad words (like "stupid"), she would. She never wanted to see another monkey bar as long as she liiiiived! And as long as I carried her, and walked slow, and didn't breathe on her, she managed not to scream bloody murder.

Somehow, the planets aligned, and we got right in at the doctor's office. It probably looked very dramatic when I carried her in, covered in bark dust, and snotty tears. She didn't look so good either.

Thank goodness, it was only a sprain on one of her arms. It did manage to take all the live long day anyway though. Because I took her to the doctor instead of the Urgent Care, there was only one person that could wrap a splint. We actually had to leave and come back when that person was available. So we left, got the comfort food from Wendy's, the Motrin and teeny bop magazines from Walgreen's and camped out on my mom's couch for two hours. 100% better than Urgent Care.

This was our first time really getting hurt like this--something beyond a band-aid. So it was scary for her. Despite my tedious explanation of what would happen, she had no idea what to expect, ignoring me and going to worst-case-scenario mode--Are they going to rip my skin open?

Thankfully, everything--the exam, the X-ray, the splint wasn't anything she imagined. She was a brave girl. She even used please and thank you--Please move my arm slowly. In it all, she was most afraid of the sling. The sling! She cried for five hours, not about the pain shooting up her arm, but about getting a sling! On and on and on about the sling! Then of course, when we finally got it, it was the coolest thing ever. So much better than a band-aid.