It was the Weekend of Minor Accidents at the Fokker’s, y’all. It started out with Stitch twisting her ankle (she is STILL limping) on Thanksgiving Day, which turned out all right for her because she had a Daddy and an uncle who carried her wounded princess butt everywhere. Nevertheless, knowing your baby has an ouchie is no fun.
Stitch’s ankle was too sore to bear her weight on Saturday, but we all wanted to go to Target to buy a small tree for the office window (which faces the street) together instead of sending just one adult, so we took her with us and just settled her into the back of the cart to be ferried around the store. Easy peasy! All was well until we were back at our Odyssey minivan and Sweet Babou picked up his precious daughter … and smacked her face against the vehicle’s raised tailgate. It was a hard, loud thump. My heart stopped.
You see, those pesky panic attacks I suffer from have lately centered on my little Stitch. I am unsure why my brain has singled her out to torture me with, but I’ve seen it before. My mom’s panic attacks usually centered on my youngest brother; she was in mortal dread of him drowning. He is a 32 year old man with a family now, so panic attacks are obviously not premonitions … but they are nonetheless horrifying to experience because you are irrationally terrified that something very bad is going to happen to someone you love very much. I wonder if my panic attacks have zeroed in on Stitch because she reminds me so much of my baby brother? Whatever the reason for her starring in my insanity plays, seeing her face slammed into the edge of a tailgate was Instant Panic Attack, just add urine!
When she started crying my heart started beating again. She was alive. That was good enough for me. I immediately called my Dad (it is so NICE to have an ER doc on call 24/7 for you; I recommend it) and through a quick Q&A he determined that she just needed pain-killers and ice, not a trip to the hospital.
The blow was hard enough to actually break through the skin a little. She has a wee crescent shaped wound right between her eyes. It is pitiful to behold.
When we had gotten our girls home and made Stitch as comfortable and happy as possible, Sweet Babou and I took turns falling apart. He was beset with guilt, while I was wracked with a panic attack that left me on the bathroom floor in a fetal position begging, “Please pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease God, PLEASE don’t let anything bad happen to my babies.” *sob and repeat*
Apparently I clench my jaw when I am upset. Well, when Stitch got hurt I was so perturbed that I clenched it hard enough to actually break my dental crown in two. It was in twain. Thus I just spent a fun couple of hours at the dentist getting it replaced. Joy.
I have an appointment Wednesday to see someone about the panic attacks. I would be grateful for any good wishes/vibes/prayers y’all would see fit to send me. You can address them to PleaseDon’tLetFokker’sLovedOnesGetHurt @ SeriouslyPleaseGod.com