Day Fifteen or Mommy, It Hurts

So as John Lennon said so famously, "life is what happens when you are busy making plans". So true.

My husband turns forty on Wednesday. Since that is in the middle of week and we had access to childcare last night so we thought, "hey, let's go have a romantic early birthday celebration". Dum, dum, dum, DUM...

We have a lovely steak dinner. We have adult conversation -- not dirty talk, but a purely Elmo-free dialogue. The bartender knew us and gave us a diabolically good chocolate cake on the house. It wasn't late. "Hey, let's go see 'District 9', we've been trying for weeks!"
Dum, dum, dum, DUM...

We're in line to buy tickets. "Maybe I should call and check on the kids", I casually say.
Dum, dum, dum, DUM...

Next thing I know, we are driving (above posted limits) home, my little buddy has hurt his arm. We arrive home to him on the couch. In a home-made sling. We touch his arm, gut-wrenching, earth-shaking scream!

Cut to two hours later. Emergency room. X-Rays. $100 Co-pay. No broken arm. Hallelujah!

Romantic steak dinner. $65.00 Two hours entertainment at the ER $100 Paranoid mother relieved. PRICELESS!

As I held him on the patient table, I felt very purposeful. His eyes looked at me with such faith and appreciation that questions of where I am in my life disappeared. Around 9/11, I often dissolve into the what-ifs. What if we stayed in New York? What if my husband hadn't joined the military? What if? What if? What if? Well, if everything happened led to holding my beautiful scared little boy last night, then okay. I accept that. I accept it all.