This boy. He’s brave. Too brave.
With this fearlessness comes a lot of scary moments for his momma. Like last summer, when we got to the pool and he saw a rogue noodle floating in the deep end and just went for it – jumping right in. No floaties. No parents. Good thing he calculated the distance properly and reached it because this boy swims like a rock.
Just a few weeks ago, he woke up screaming in the night because his leg wasn’t working. “Mom, I can’t move it at all.” I thought it was “asleep” but when he still couldn’t stand on it at 6:30 in the morning, I knew we had a problem. Turns out he somehow pulled his groin and/or hip flexor muscles. That was an expensive 3 hour visit to the ER.
Then this past weekend, we went to Maryland to visit cousins and grandparents. Brooks woke up one morning with this:
He rolled out of bed and hit the stone nightstand getting a little eye gash and then went back to bed leaving little blood splotches all over the sheets like a gruesome Rorschach test. And while Landon said Brooks shed some tears, neither came to get us in the middle of the night. We got the surprise when we came down for breakfast. I told them next time there’s an open wound or injury, they need to come get us.
It’s a good thing I gave that warning because on that same trip, Landon came to grab Dean and I to inform us that Brooks was sitting in a folding patio chair that collapsed on top of him and he was stuck inside. I mean, I really can’t make this stuff up.
I really want to see this boy hit his 18th birthday. But with the regularity of these injuries, he may be in several pieces.