Take Me Out OF The Ball Game

This week, being emotionally rough in nature, brought to memory another Vash "ouchy Boo boo" story. Long before Rhyla was born, Vash and I were playing outside in the back yard. We were kicking balls, chasing each other, and generally having a high old time. But for some reason, our baseball bat was out, laying on the porch. Now if Vash took it out and set it down because it was heavy or if it was out already because the neighbor kids we share a back yard with took it out and left it, I honestly can't remember. All I remember was time changing to slow motion as I watched my baby boy run and slip on the baseball bat, fall, and smack his head on our concrete porch. I was crying and crying and called Craig to see if I should take him to the ER. He said to call and ask his mom, who is kind of like a Doctor. So I did and we went through the list of questions: Did he black out or throw up after he fell? (No.) Is he still crying? (No.) Is he bleeding or does he have a bump? (No bleeding, A bump, but it't turning PURPLE! *sobs*) Vash at this point wanted back down and kept playing as if nothing had happened. "Well... If he gets lethargic or wont eat, try taking him to the ER. " Obviously everything was all right. He didn't sleep to much and he ate tons so we never had to take the trip. The bump went away over night and the bruise was gone a few days later. Although his speech is still somewhat indiscernible to others, he's still an incredibly smart boy, so no permanent damage. But I hate it when my babies get hurt and I have been extremely cautious since then.