Picture, if you will, an incredibly adorable 5-year-old girl enjoying herself immensely on an Easter bike outing. Her big sister is along for the ride, and their dad is following behind. It’s a lovely early Spring day in Northern New Jersey. I assume the birds were singing, and cute little furry animal families had gathered along the side of the road to enjoy the idyllic scene.
It was really lovely.
Until, on a hill, her sister starts to pick up some speed and gets a good distance ahead of her. As she turns to protest to their father about the injustice, she loses her balance and crashes face/head first to the ground. This was almost 30 years ago, and there are no helmets in use.
She recovers and heads home bloodied, but not defeated.
Later, during Easter dinner, she constantly refers to deviled eggs as potatoes and her parents realize that something is very wrong. They pack up and head to the Hospital, where she is examined and diagnosed with her first concussion.
In case you hadn’t already figured it out, that girl was me. And if the title of the post didn’t give it away, history repeated itself at this year’s Easter celebration.
According to reports, Zachary was walking backwards when he tripped over the edge of a retaining wall and fell, head first, to the concrete below. Thankfully, he was at one of the lower parts of the wall, so the fall was not as bad as it could have been. It did, however, make him a bit loopy. I didn’t know anything had happened until he had been brought inside, but I could tell something was wrong because his cry was different than usual. It was actually softer, which made me take note and realize that he really was hurt.
The size of the bump on his head rivaled that of the plastic eggs that the boys had been searching for earlier in the day. It was impressive, to say the least. We held ice on it, and he sat with me and cried, for about 10 minutes. He finally stopped crying and sat with me, quietly, for another 15 or 20 minutes.
Zachary sitting quietly is never, ever a good sign.
We started quizzing him about how he was feeling, if his head hurt, if he was tired, and then we started asking him questions, to test his memory.
“Who is the DJ on Yo Gabba Gabba?”
“Who is your preschool teacher?”
“What’s your favorite movie?”
“How old are you?”
We figured he was okay when he answered “Four…and a half!”
We watched him carefully for the rest of the day and, thankfully, we seem to have avoided a concussion.
This time, at least.
The poor child seems to have inherited my knack for leading with your head.
Hopefully he doesn’t end up with my child bearing hips.