Poor baby

My little June had her first trip to the ER this weekend, poor baby. She's just fine, and I'd say all-in-all James and I--and especially Edie--were more upset than she was.

On Saturday morning she was sitting on the arm of the sofa and as James was about to go get her down she fell and hit the back of her head on the edge of our TV stand (she took off some of the finish she clunked so hard). I was still asleep, and James ran into the room where I was sleeping with June in his arms to wake me up--at that point she was just whimpering but seemed generally OK, so we were able to examine the cut and decided she probably needed stitches.

I really wanted to go to the hospital to be with her, but Edie had just gotten up and was quite upset by the sight of the blood, and was also very concerned about her sister, so since I was in my pajamas we thought it would be better if James took June on his own and I stayed home with Edie. If it had been a bigger emergency of course I would have run out the door naked if I had to, and I have to say it was very difficult to watch them go. As a mother the protective instinct is stronger than anything, and I felt such a physical tug as the car pulled out of the driveway. But Junie had a lollipop and a book, and said "bye Mama" like she and Daddy were simply off to the supermarket, so I knew she was going to be fine. She had two staples put in the back of her head and apparently was a trooper, and she was as full of energy as ever for the rest of the weekend.

I'm grateful that it was so relatively minor--when they do get hurt and it turns out to be a quick fix it really does make you appreciate how healthy and hearty they are. June really is one tough cookie--no wonder two of her nicknames are Bruiser and Stinker.


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