So there I was, standing at the college reception with Reuben in my arms, both of us traumatized, both of us soaking wet, blood pouring out of his forehead, and a feeble sticky plaster trying to disguise his head wound. My only words... "I should be in class right now".
Mothering skills - 0
Corner of the coffee table - 1
So about a week ago now (I still haven't got broadband in my house, don't judge my lack of organisation please), on a wet, dreary, already running late - kinda Monday morning..you know the kind.. Reuben tripped on the mat and hit his head off the corner of the coffee table. And I FREAKED out. I had an Early Church History lecture to be in, a double one might I add, and there was blood gushing out of my sons head. I was going to fail my degree and Reuben was going to have a hole in his head. No big deal. So what did I do? I paused the bleeding and covered it with a sticky plaster, naturally. I wanted to get to my lecture so I turned up at his creche... hoping that they wouldn't notice. I really struggle with Church History okay! But of course being the more responsible adults than me, they told me I needed to get him checked out at A&E.
The exact words I did not want to hear. For the last almost 2 years I've been avoiding A&E at all costs. Do you know how hard that is when you have a male toddler who throws himself off furniture and into walls?! ITS PRETTY HARD! I just reeeaaaaallllyyyyy don't want any accidents on Reuben's medical record. I mean, as a young single mum I am pretty much a walking target for Social Services. But these things happen every toddler, you can't wrap them in bubble wrap. Believe me, I've tried.
After I explained myself at the college, and the lovely ladies at reception ignored the fact that I was obviously a crazy person.. they advised me to just get the notes off someone in my class. That was common sense. But that part of my brain wasn't functioning. I'm not sure any part of my brain was functioning but we'll not go down that route.
How was I going to tell my parents? I've been in Belfast one week and I've already broken their grandson. In fact, I'm pretty sure my dad still hasn't been told so this might not be his favourite blog post. I rang my friend Anna in a blind panic... she's a student nurse, she would fix everything. Anna met me at my house, calmed me down, and gave me directions to the Royal. Then I queued for TWENTY FIVE MINUTES just to get into the car park! Y'all gotta do something about that over at the Royal! Anyway, then we spent the next half hour in the waiting room while Reuben bounced about, absolutely unaware of blood coming from his temple.
After aaaaaallllll this.... Reuben just needed cleaned and given a 'good boy' sticker. No stitches. Nothing. Nada.
WHERE'S MY GOOD MUM STICKER!
The nurse told me 'better to get these things checked out, better safe than sorry'.. But she's obviously never studied Early Church History. He might be safe, but I'm still a little sorry.
And that's Reuben's first trip to A&E. And that's my first skipped lecture. So here's to the normal Monday mornings - where early alarms and soggy weetabix don't seem so bad anymore.