It was one of those slow-motion moments, the kind a parent fears the most. I saw her bike fall and I watched her go down. The first thoughts to fly into my brain were, "Broken teeth! Compound fracture!" I hopped off my bike and engaged the kickstand, but the bike fell over and clattered against the curb anyway. I ran over to my daughter just as she was getting up.
Now, my child is not the type to dust herself off and soldier on. So, I knew there was going to be a scene, regardless of whether her injuries were superficial or not. She clutched her knee and hobbled over to the curb, crying loudly. She had a sizable mark on her right cheek from where her face had collided with the road. A cursory exam revealed that she would live. We sat on the curb for a little while and I held her while she wailed, "Owwwwwie!" over and over, in case any of the neighbors had missed it the first few dozen times.
Eventually, I convinced her to get up and walk the three blocks home (since riding was clearly out of the question). I walked the two bikes back to our house while she followed behind, crying and limping. When we got home, she laid on her bed while I cleaned her up and gave her an ice pack for her cheek. I added a glob of Neosporin to her knee and applied a couple of Muppets Band-aids over the scrape. I set up her portable DVD player and popped in Toy Story 3. Finally, I handed her a cotton candy-flavored freezy pop and she was quiet for the rest of the evening. Well, she did take a few moments to detail her brush with death for her Meemaw over the phone. Meemaw was suitably sympathetic.
Her dad was working last night so I didn't tell him about the accident until this morning. I told him NOT to advise our daughter as to what she could have done differently so as to have avoided the incident. I knew that would not go over well. Our biggest concern now is getting her back on her bike. We're going to encourage her to get on the ol' horse this weekend, if only for a loop around our cul-de-sac.
She was afraid everyone at Kindercare would stare at her cheek today. I gave her a couple of witty comebacks, but she wasn't interested.
"Oh, this? Bar fight."
"Football injury."
"The street was mouthing off so I beat it up with my face."
"That fourth shot of Patron musta been a doozy!"
No one finds me amusing around here.
