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Emma races out of the house. Henry tries to keep up, but his stumpy legs just don’t move fast enough.
“Woo-hoo!” Emma squeals, diving onto a swing stomach first. She pushes her arms out in front of her, walks her legs along the ground, and catapults herself into the air.
I snag Henry’s arm before he gets a foot to the head. “You’re over here, little dude.”
After securing Henry in the baby swing, I give him a push and watch Emma. The swing slows to a stop, and she turns to sit on it properly. When I go to give her a push, she stops me.
“Wet me do it.”
Okay. I watch as Emma manages to push herself in a gentle swing. She starts kicking her legs, furiously trying to get higher into the air, but it just isn’t working, so I move in front of her.
“When you swing toward me, kick your legs out. When you go back, curl your legs in.”
“Wike this?” she says, doing as I say.
“Yup. Now lean forward and back a little bit with the movement. Yes, just like that. You’re doing it, Emma.”
Before long she’s soaring through the air, her braid flopping in the wind behind her. Henry is content to watch his sister swing and even claps for her as she climbs higher into the air.
Emma is all the way back when she looks at Henry, releases the chains, and claps. The moment passes in slow motion but fast enough that I can’t stop the impending accident.
Her eyes grow wide as she loses balance. She reaches for the chains at the same time as I reach for her, but it’s too late. Emma topples backward out of the
swing, landing on the hard ground with a thud.
“Emma!” I rush to her side and scoop her into my arms. Her screams pierce my ears as she clutches the back of her head.
“Oh, Emma.”
I hold her, rub her back, soothe her with quiet words, but nothing I do seems to help. She just screams and screams.
“Sweetheart, can I look at your head?” When I try to move her hands, she shakes her head and cries louder. It must be a kid thing to cry when another kid is crying, because a second later, Henry bursts into tears.
He’s safe and secure in his swing, and I’m fairly certain he’s only crying because Emma is hurt, so I give him a gentle push. “Shh. It’s okay. Emma is going to be okay.”
“No I’m not!” Emma bellows. I wince at the high-pitched sound. “I’m dying!”
I almost laugh at her theatrics. Almost. “You’re not dying. But I need to look at your head to make sure you’re okay.”
She finally looks up. Tears are running down her blotchy face. She pulls her hands away from her head, and that’s when I see blood, lots of blood smeared into her hair—so much of it that I can’t see where it’s coming from.
Okay. Stay calm. She’s conscious, and that has to count for something.
“Emma, can you stand?”
She nods and climbs out of my lap. I take Henry out of the swing and walk them both inside. “Come on, sweetie, let’s get your head cleaned up.”
“What’s dis?” she says sniffling as she looks at her hands.
“Well, that’s blood, but—”
“Bwood!” she screeches. “I’m bweeding?”
“Yes, but you’re going to be okay. I promise. I just have to get you inside so I can get a better look at it.”
“I want my daddy!”
I want your daddy too.
