So, tonight we were trying to go to a pumpkin walk. We had already gone during the day with the girls, but after seeing some of the carvings, we thought that it would be really fun to take the girls at night. We thought we'd be smart and put them in the pjs before heading out so we could just drop them in bed after coming back (rationale being that they'd fall asleep on the way home).
Both girls like to run around crazy-psycho style any time they sense that they're getting ready to leave the house. Girl 1 was in just such a mode when she ran away from Weef and into the kitchen, where we promptly heard a very disturbing *THUD*, followed by a blood-curdling scream. Recognizing this as being way beyond the whiny "Mommy, I hurt my hair!", we both bolted off the couch and to see what had happened. Weef picked up girl 1 and held her, I rubbed girl 1's back and said, "Show daddy where it hurts." She looked up at me, and I could feel the blood drain from my face. Her mouth was the deepest, darkest, bloodiest red I had ever seen. Her top two teeth were gone, and she was hemmorhaging from her upper gums. "Pumpkin walk off. Pack 'em in the car; we're going to the emergency room." Weef, not knowing what was going on, asked what was going on. I picked up one of the teeth from the floor and showed her, and then the light of realization flooded down upon her in shocking horror.
So off to the emergency room we went.
Prognosis: reconstructive dental work. The two teeth were knocked back pretty severely. Fortunately, we already had a dental appt scheduled for Monday, so looks like Dr. Dentist dude is going to be pulling double duty.
Anyway, it was awful. Watching a 3.5 year old scream uncontrollably because of some unimaginable pain that you can't do anything about is gut-wrenching enough. Combine that with the frustration of sloth-style traffic that doesn't care a hoot about the trauma that's unfolding in our back seat.
And, of course, since it's Saturday night, no one at DCFS is around to answer any phone calls, nor is anyone at any number listed in the medical binder that was given to us. We left about half a dozen messages. By "we," I mean Lori, which is a good thing because if I had been the one leaving messages, well . . . let's just say they wouldn't have been friendly or polite. I mean, if a number is posted as being for medical reasons, and it says "24-7", I expect someone to pick up the phone and speak--not get some lame recording saying, "Leave a number and we'll call you back." I feel sorry for whomever returns the call.
But the crisis has passed. Girl 1 took a motrin and went right to sleep when we got home.
It's just rough.