Telling on Myself...
Story about my daughter...
When PD was 3, she fell out of her bed in the middle of the night and woke up screaming. Dale ran to her room, scooped her up and tucked her back in. At least that is what he told me because I don’t do nights. I need my sleep. (another example of bad mommy) In the morning, PD told me her arm hurt. I did a thorough medical exam (I looked at), gave her a kiss and told her she was fine.
She did seem fine. The arm wasn’t swollen or bruised and appeared normal. She didn’t cry. She played. She laughed. We went on with life. I did begin noticing she wouldn’t use her right arm and she is very right handed. She was trying to color with her left and getting discouraged. At meal times she was eating with her left hand. Hmmm! I checked her over again. The arm seemed fine and I wasn’t even sure what arm she fell on.
Three days later, 3 days later I was still watching her struggle with her arm. I called the pediatrician and told them maybe it was a sprain. They had me bring her in immediately. The doctor took one look at the arm and said, “obviously, her arm is broken.” Obviously. Just stab me in the heart. Before you remove the knife, make sure you call family services. I will turn myself in quietly.
She didn’t just break it a little. She required a cast from her fingers to her shoulders for 6 weeks followed by 6 more weeks in a half cast. Poor little baby girl with the bad mommy!
On the bright side, the doctors office said they can tell the difference between abuse and an accident. Obviously this was an accident.