Baby Girl vs. Big Sis

(Warning: graphic picture to follow.)

I was in my closet picking out something to wear.  The all-too-familiar sound of Big Sis crying filled my ears.  She's a drama queen and cries at the drop of a hat.  Usually, the purpose of the crying is to get one of her brothers in trouble.  She thinks the louder she cries, the more trouble the perpetrator will get into.  So when I heard her bawling yesterday, I hollered at her to get back in her room and finish cleaning.  (That's where she was supposed to be anyway.)  She settled down a bit and started toward her room.  When I asked what happened, she said her baby sister hit her with a plastic broom.  "You'll be fine," I said.  "If you had been doing what you were supposed to be doing, this wouldn't have happened."  I scolded Baby Girl, who was smiling proudly, and gave her a swat on the bottom with the same weapon, the plastic broom. 

Life went on.  I picked out my outfit and turned on the iron.  Meanwhile, Hubby went into the injured's room to tell her to chill out and clean her room.  She obliged, turning around to clean her room.  Hubby discovered that her entire back was covered with blood.  He flipped out.  "She!" he screamed.  "We're gonna have to take her to get stitches!" 

I ran to check her out but he was carrying her out the door.  "Let me see," I said. 

"No, I'm taking her to show your dad." 

"Just let me look at it!"

"No, it's bad, I'm showing your dad."

"Can I see it first?" I was pretty loud by this point.  But he was already out the door.  My dad lives next door so the trip was quick.  He opened the door to discover a sleeping dad on the couch.  "He's asleep," I said.  "Let me see it."

At this point, he obliged and sat down in a lawn chair outside their house.  I couldn't see anything because her hair was matted with blood.  He was still insisting on taking her to ER but I insisted louder that I wanted to clean her up first.  I was not taking a blood-stained child into a hospital emergency room.  (Although we would have gotten urgent attention!)

I sat her on the counter and attempted to clean her up with a wet rag.  As I cleaned it up, I noticed that the cut was not actually that big.  It blew my mind that all this happened with a toy broom!  Then, I remembered that my cousin from two doors down is studying to be an RN.  I had Son #1 call and ask him to come over.  He rushed to the scene with a giant medical bag in hand.  He had me ice the area to slow the bleeding and he cleaned it up with some peroxide and gauze.  (She might be a bit blonder after this event.)  He said that the ER would definitely cut her hair if they had to stitch the wound.  This is when I decided that we were definitely going to stop the bleeding on our own.

I held her in my lap for about an hour, applying pressure to the wound.  She was content to watch TV and barely fussed.  The worst part was that the melting ice dripped down her matted hair and caused a bloody puddle to form on the floor.  The first level of my house totally looked like a crime scene!  After a while, I checked the cut and noticed how small it actually was.  It would have required no more than one stitch, if any were needed at all.  A doctor friend said it sounded like she didn't need stitches after all.  As long as we were able to stop the bleeding, she was going to be fine. 

So that's what life around here has looked like.  Again, I was the calm one in the situation while others around me flipped out.  And again, I thanked God for giving me a calm disposition.  A mother of four certainly needs that trait on her resume'.