Special Time With Mommy (Urgent Care Edition)

During my maternity leave, we rented one of a cluster of cabins surrounding a zero-depth-entry pool in Maine. It was the perfect setup for The Bigs, who were rowdy four- and five-year-olds. We didn’t have to share a wall with any other vacationers, and they could wade into the water while always being able to touch the bottom. It was close enough to home that we could drive there, but far enough away that it was more than a “staycation.”

Late one afternoon, Grandma needed a break from The Bigs’ noisy splashing and frolicking, so she took the baby back to our cabin. After a while, Middle decided he wanted his toy boat. I told him, “You’re a big boy now; you can hustle your bustle back to the cabin to get it.” That was a better option than leaving my Oldest alone at the pool. Besides, I needed to encourage his big-boyness, since he seemed a little disgruntled to no longer be “the baby.”

I had only just called Grandma to give her the ten-minute warning so she could put The Bigs’ chicken noggins and smiley fries in the oven, so I didn’t call again to warn her that Middle was on his way back. I had already begun packing up our poolside presence, so the fact that Middle wanted the boat came as a surprise (I hoped there wouldn’t need to be a negotiation to return to the cabin for good that evening). I reminded him to run along the lawn area where I could see him, expecting he’d just stop at the porch where the beach toys were, grab the boat, and come right back. He should have only been out of my line of sight momentarily.

Well, more than a few moments passed, and he didn’t return. I wanted to check on him, but I couldn’t leave Oldest in the pool. Maybe he just had to go potty…But then, I heard my phone vibrating in my carry-all tote. Grandma informed me that Middle had a “little accident.” Did he not make it to the potty in time?

But no, she meant a real accident. He was running, and he tripped up the porch steps and punctured his knee on a protruding nail. Grandma thought I should come and look at it. Regretfully, I had to cut Oldest’s pool time short.

“Awwwww!”

“I’m sorry, honey. Please get out of the pool. Your brother hurt his knee, and I need to decide if he should go to the doctor.”

“But Mah-ahm!”

“No buts, honey. I can’t leave you here by yourself. We never swim alone, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I prodded him back up the hill to the cabin.

It was 5:06 p.m., and I crossed my fingers that our doctor’s office was still open. It was. The first step was to double-check whether Middle had had a tetanus shot.

Indeed, he had: it was a standard immunization at the four-year checkup, which was just the month prior. I wasn’t sure the wound seemed that bad. Grandma was the one who had administered the immediate first aid, and Middle was somewhat reluctant to let me look too closely, so with a paper towel pressed tightly over it, off we went to the closest urgent care facility.

We had a companionable 25-minute ride, just the two of us. He told me about his favorite Thomas & Friends train (James the Red Engine) and which Mighty Morphin Power Ranger was the coolest (Red Ranger, of course). We giggled over some of our favorite quotes from books: “Pass the rolls!” (from a toddler devotional book) and “Do you like my hat?” (from Go, Dog. Go!). There was also a lively discussion about “The Poopoo Book” (Everyone Poops).

There was a good amount of waiting around when we got to urgent care. We read four books, and I admired the Lego castle he built.

The medical staff fawned over Middle’s striking good looks and adorable charm. Ultimately, he did not need the kind of stitches that require a needle, but I don’t recall whether he had surgical glue or adhesive strips. Whatever it was necessitated that he waterproof his knee before he enjoyed the beach, pool, or a bath.

He milked his injury for all it was worth: limping, hobbling… “Carry me, Mommy?” he asked plaintively. He looked up at me, sweeping blond lashes blinking over his sky blue eyes. I could not resist. “Okay, honey,” I bent down and hoisted up all 46 or so pounds of him, and rested him on my hip as we approached the departure side of the desk. Dang, he’s heavy compared to the baby!

As we checked out, the receptionist was going on and on about how handsome and charming he was. I agreed with her, “Yes, I am concerned that he might leverage these qualities to get away with things… As if he wasn’t already: the wide angelic eyes and slight lisp exacerbated by the missing top front tooth (that he knocked out during a coffee table accident) were endearing to me, even when he was being naughty.

On the way home, we speculated about dinner and whether there would be any ice cream left. Regardless of the inconvenience and expense of this side trip to urgent care on our already frugal getaway, the value of the undivided time we spent together was immeasurable. I was a single mom with three boys under five. My attention had been fragmented.

But that night, for a few hours, Middle didn’t have to compete with anyone. I realized that when maternity leave ended and Grandma made her way back to her home across the country, I would need to plan a routine that included special, one-on-one time for each of my boys.

You’ll find stories like this in my book, Snakes, Snails, and Puppy Dog Tales, which is available in paperback and free with Kindle Unlimited.

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