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“I know, baby. I’ll message him, but first we need to get inside.”
I usher her and Henry through the house and into the bathroom. After getting Henry occupied on the floor beside us, I put Emma on the toilet seat.
I moisten a rag and hand it to her. “Use this to wipe your hands off.”
She does as I ask while I search through the cabinets. Peroxide. Peroxide. Come on, Grayson. You have to have peroxide in here somewhere. There you are! I grab the bottle, along with some cotton balls and a tube of triple antibiotic ointment, all while completely ignoring the box of condoms shoved in the back of the cabinet.
“Okay, sweetie, I’m going to clean the blood off.”
“Is it gonna hurt?”
“No. And if it does, just tell me and I’ll stop, okay?”
Emma nods and continues to wipe her hands as I wet a cotton ball and gently dab at the blood. It comes off easily and when a small cut becomes visible, I breathe a sigh of relief. She’s got a nice-sized goose egg and a small cut. It looks like a surface wound that will probably heal in a couple of days.
“You’re doing great,” I say, tossing the cotton ball in the trash. I grab another, pour some peroxide on it, and dab the area. As soon as the peroxide hits the small cut, Emma winces.
“Are you okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh, Emma.” I keep dabbing until all of the blood is off of her skin. She’ll still need her hair scrubbed later, but I’ll let Grayson take care of that. “I’m so sorry you fell.”
“I wetted go.”
“I know you did. That’s why you always have to hold on tight. You can’t let go because then you might fall.”
“I won’t wet go again.”
“I know you won’t.” I kiss her forehead and reach for the triple antibiotic ointment. “One more thing and then we’ll get an ice pack for your head.”
I squeeze a small amount ointment onto a Q-tip and apply it to the cut.
“Okay. All done.” And it only took five years off of my life.
Emma climbs off the toilet. She and Henry follow me into the kitchen, where I put some ice into a bag. I wrap the bag in a washcloth and after getting Emma situated on the couch, I instruct her to hold it on her head.
“Can I watch Mickey Mouse?” she asks.
You can have whatever you want, kid.
“Absolutely.” I turn the TV on, get to the right channel, and fall into the recliner.
Holy cow, that was intense. I survived my first kid injury—something I hope doesn’t ever happen again. I should probably text Grayson. Thank God we swapped numbers before he left this morning.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and send off a quick text.
Emma fell off the swing and hit her head.
A second later my phone vibrates in my hand and Grayson’s name flashes across the screen, but it isn’t a text. I slide the circle to the right and raise the phone.
“Hello.”
“Is she okay? What happened?” he says, his words coming out in a rush.
“She’s fine. She was swinging and let go to clap at Henry, and she fell backward. She landed pretty hard and hit her head on the ground, but—”
“I’m on my way home. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
