My phone rang at 4.30. That was never going to be a good sign. I’ll quite often talk to John and the kids on the phone at lunchtime but if the message is “come home via the chippy, we fancy fish for supper” it’s going to come by text, not a call.
Poor little Pip Squeak had fallen over in the supermarket and banged his head on the bottom of a shelf unit as only an overly bouncy toddler could. He had a nice egg coming up and a bit of a nasty cut, and John and the pharmacist had both looked at it, and each other, and made that face that you make when you know that it might be all right if you just left it, but you can’t take that chance and you know you’re going to A&E. With three increasingly hungry children.
So they headed off through rush hour traffic, I threw everything in my work bag and headed for the next train with a small detour for chocolate biscuits.
In an odd way there was a sense of inevitability about it; Pip is utterly fearless and tall and strong with it, he will climb anything, run jump and throw himself into whatever he’s doing, usually literally, so to be so excited that he fell over his own feet is very Pip, it’s just that supermarkets aren’t quite as friendly places to fall over in as the sofa at home.
I was never particularly worried exactly; John is a veteran of many, many sports related injuries (see here and scroll down for evidence!) and seems to leave the best part of his knees on an astroturf almost every week so I trust his judgment absolutely when it comes to bumps and scrapes on the kids but oh did I wish that train could have moved faster. It isn’t the same as when I’d get a call from nursery to say one of the girls was poorly and I’d have to dash home as fast as possible to pick them up and cosset them, but it’s still enough to make you feel every mile.
By the time I got to the hospital it seemed that miracles of miracles had occurred and they’d found A&E to be fairly quiet so they were already in with the doctor, and my little boy was bumbling about to show everyone just how bright eyed and bushy tailed he was feeling. General prognosis: he was fine, he just needed glueing back together again. Which is exactly what happened; as Pip likes to tell people “I went hospital! Doctor fix me!”, and he was petted and given a fruit roll in the butchers so as far as he’s concerned he’s had fewer baths and a nice adventure.
I was so proud of our girls too; when I got to the hospital they were both crammed into the same chair, trying desperately not to fidget too much, and just sit and wait, and for all that they were glad to be sprung when I took them home first while John and Pip waited for the glue, they wouldn’t go until they knew what was happening to their brother, and given him hugs and checked he was OK.
It’s been quite a week. As well as Pip charming the A&E staff into giving him a biscuit, we’ve had house viewings, seen a house we quite liked the look of be sold to someone else, and John and my in laws have done a herculean task in two days and repainted vast swathes of the house (you can hear all about it in this week’s Little Loves video).
It makes me very very glad to be sat on a cold and grey Saturday evening, writing this with a glass of wine to one hand and the comfort of knowing that right now we’re all tucked up and snug in our castle. But here’s hoping to a slightly less eventful week coming.