The Dangers of Parenting

There are a lot of words that can be used to describe the all-encompassing endeavor known as "parenting". Words such as challenging, exhausting, and fun all come to mind. Never-ending. Tough, scary, and rewarding. But no one ever tells you that parenting can be dangerous.

Wait...dangerous?? Yes, dangerous.

Yesterday morning as I was getting ready to take my car to get a flat tire fixed, Gabe and G3 were wrestling around on our bed. One minute I heard shouts of delight and glee, the next, a string of really shocking swear words and Gabe's familiar bellow of "LINDSAY!"

"What?" I said.

"Come here. NOW. Get the kid OFF the bed!"

I went out to find Gabe laying in a fetal position with his hand over his eye, moaning. G3 was flailing about like a rabid animal. I put him on the floor and asked Gabe what his problem was.

"When I take my hand off my face I want you to tell me if my eyeball is hanging out," he said with great fanfare.

He slowly removed his hand and no, his eyeball was not hanging out. Over the course of the next hour, however, it was determined that G3 had somehow kicked Gabe squarely in the eye and he was in serious pain. Serious enough to call the eye doctor and make an appointment. It should be noted for posterity that this was a highly dramatic hour which consisted of Gabe pacing around the house in his underwear, crocs, and a blazer, moaning theatrically and making alarming statements like I think my brain might be bleeding and Well when they send me to the hospital for an MRI feel free to come pick me up.

Despite all this, Gabe refused to let me drive him to the eye doctor, instead choosing to drive himself in glaring sunlight with 1 good eye peering out of a pair of eyeglasses that hadn't been worn since the '90s. I went about my day, checking in periodically, and when I arrived home from running 4 million errands that afternoon, this is what I found:

Textbook case of injured/sick man at home.

Long story short--G3 kicked Gabe square in the eyeball and somehow managed to "severely" (doctor's words not mine) scratch Gabe's cornea. He has drops, ointment, shades to block out the light if needed, and orders not to wear his contacts for a week or so. There was no "brain bleed" as Gabe feared, though the doctor did check for "bleeding behind the eye". The verdict: kid--1, dad--0.

It also needs to be put out there that today we headed outside into the snowstorm to take G3 sledding. Unbeknownst to me (well, beknownst but forgotten)--the patio was a sheet of ice under the snow. And so, the first thing that happened as I started to run into the snowy yard with the dog in hopes of entertaining G3 and showing him how much fun snow was?? I fell. Like the old lady on those commercials for the medical alarm companies. As I lay there contemplating if my hip was broken, my trusty (if half-blind) husband took a picture.

Classy.

So there you have it. Two injured parents snowbound with one rambunctious baby. The following picture has nothing to do with this blog post but I wanted to share it anyhow. Ray and Nancy spent the night on their way to Syracuse and as usual we went for a morning walk. The snow hadn't started falling hard yet, so it was a very nice, quiet, snowy stroll. G3 was so mesmerized he couldn't keep his eyes open. And fortunately, there were no injuries to report!