The Things Children Say...

Friend of mine and I were talking 'bout the relentless joy of parenting. Speaking of Happy Hour, she recalled one of her many trips to Children’s Hospital. The names have been changed to protect the innocent and the family now lives in Paraguay.

"Oh, one time my husband and I had a few beers. I'm playing with our little guy, trying to tickle him while he's on my back. Well, I wrangle him off my back to around the front of me. He's hanging upside down, when he slips and falls.

Head first. Splits his lip. Immediate buzz kill. He's screaming, my other two kids are laughing hysterically and I'm half-wasted trying to get a band-aid on him. Well, five minutes into it my husband's like "Um, I'm pretty sure he needs stitches".

This is confirmed by the blood now pretty much gushing down his face. Okay, three kids and two parents into the car, off to the emergency room. We walk up to the desk, the nurse takes one look at my screaming, bloody five year old and sympathizes, "Ooh, what happened?".

Which is when my 8 yr old Lisa pipes up--"Mom dropped Alex. On his head. Drinking beer". I try to laugh it off, "Kids...." which earns me a sidewards look from the nurse. "Alright..." she begins, logging us into the computer, "...has your son been here before?".

I switch into Mom-mode, determined to show nurse Ratchet I can parent with the best of them. "No. Lisa was here when she fell of her bike. Oh, and for measles. When she was four. Robert was here for mumps...".

"...and when he broke his toe in soccer...", my husband chimes in, flush with pride that we're forging ahead through a beer-haze showing the world our kids indeed come before Miller Lite.

“But this is Alex’s first visit”. I give the nurse my best this-is-not-a-sarcastic-smile when she squints at the screen, then looks up.

"It says here Alex was hit by a car. You brought him in May 15th, 2:33pm. Do you remember your child being struck by a car?".

The question hangs in the air like a threat to call Social Services.

"Yes, okay--that's right. Actually, we were here and um, yep had Alex checked out. Technically, he rode his bike into a car...". Nurse Ratchet quietly folds her hands in front of her, like a judge.

"...the car didn't actually hit him". I try to reverse my this-is-not-a-sarcastic-smile into something that might work in child custody court. Kind of a half-pleading, I'm-not-a-bad-person smile.

Quick to my defense, my husband offers "Yeah, we'd remember if a car hit him".

Nurse R. exhales once. "But you don't remember him riding his bike into a car?".

"Oh, we remember that...May 14th...".

"The 15th, actually" Nurse R. corrects me coolly.

And in that brief awkward and accusation-filled silence is when my eldest decides to ask “Can I have a Happy Meal? Do we have to stop for beer again on the way home?”.

Alex got three stitches.

Everyone got Happy Meals.

We now go to St. Vincent’s Hospital. Yeah, it’s a bit out of the way but they have a great cafeteria.