"I'm fine, I'm fine. No big deal. Ha ha." I said, tears immediately springing to my eyes.
You think that would have taught me a lesson about guarding my face.
Fast forward to this Wednesday morning. I was upstairs getting two of the boys dressed for the day. I was sitting on the floor, playing with Eddie, when Nick made his way up the stairs. Excited to see Dada, Eddie began to climb the gate that was protecting him from barreling down the beautiful green shag that graces our stairs.
"Get down, Eddie," Nick said gently. Eddie replied with giggles.
"Buddy, get down on the floor," I said. Nothing.
So I gently grabbed him around the waist to pull him down to me.
He threw his head back in protest... into my face.
I don't remember what happened next. I know Eddie definitely ended up on the floor, I flew into the bathroom, shut the door and tried to stop the gushing, gushing, gushing blood.
"Uhhhh, I think my nose might be broken?" I half asked, shakily and squeakily.
"Okay guys, let's watch a show!" I heard Nick say through the closed door. He swooped the kids downstairs and turned on Curious George. Moments later he was back upstairs with a bag of frozen peas, two extra strength tylenol and was calling in to work to say he was staying home for the morning.
My nose, cut on top, and throbbing all the way back to the middle of my brain, bled for a good 45 minutes. I hesitantly called in to the doctor, who told me to see an ENT, like today.
"I really think it's fine," I told her. She wasn't convinced.
Let me pause to give you this piece of advice: if you ever think maybe your nose is broken, never ever, under any circumstances, consult WebMD. It will scare you for the rest of your life with its description of instruments and resetting techniques and packing gauze. You have been warned.
I made my way downtown and sat waiting in the warm office for the doctor. I tried not to look at the various tools sitting around, or read the labels of what the drawers contained. The doctor came in, did her examination, asked a few questions, and said, "You're fine. It's not broken, just bruised and swollen." Relief swept over me as I gave one more glance to the metal prongs sitting on the counter next to me.
It's still bruised and sore, but it's healing. And thankfully, I find it kind of funny. But if George is going to follow his brothers examples, my nose will be broken by 2012. Hopefully this time I've learned my lesson.
I am cute, but my head is very, very hard.