A productive morning, an afternoon at the park with some overseas relatives, barbeque, playing cricket with a dodgy ball and six year old and racing a round the playground.

The older two had been invited to stay with the overseas relatives overnight, so we had their bags packed, and my head was full of thoughts about what Grumpy and I could get up to when Chippie went to bed …

I had some concerns about Godzilla, whom,  being the youngest of the group was often left out. He also had a very sore throat and head, and was overtired, which wouldn’t have helped his temper and fitting in. I tried several attempts to talk him into coming home with us, but he was determined. He then fell face first off the flying fox, required an ice-pack, and resorted to a cold bottle of beer held to his face.

After some more-than-usual vagueness – a result of the fall, being overtired or just him, who knows? – he still insisted on going, and I reluctantly agreed. Some tree climbing, sans falling, later, we all head home. Chippie was overtired and flithly from a day of crawling around, falling over and eating cigarette butts and beer bottle tops.

I unload as much of the car as possible and head straight to the bathroom to fill the bath (mmmm papaya bubbles and some lavender oil to aid sleep). Grumpy and his mum unload the rest, and Grumpy brings Chippie in who decides he’d rather be out the wide open front door … outside!!! Freeeeeeedom! I show him a ball (this always grabs his attention) and shut the bathroom door. He commenced what I like to call his Silent Tantrum – this is the one he puts on when others are around, he pulls a face, falls sideways, hands down and lays on the floor.

Quietly and refusing to interact with anyone. And everyone goes “Awwww. Are you tired, sweetheart?’

Tired, my arse. He’s having a Silent Tanty!

Anyhoo, as any good mother would do, she ignores it while removing her top and bra to hop in the bath as he gives me The Look. I unzip my jeans as he falls sideways, collects the side of the shower base and lays there.

“Ah, Chippie, ya silly bugger. Up you get!”

Nothing. Hrm, he seems somewhat …. unresponsive and flat.

“Come on, mate. Hop up,” as I walk over to pick up up. He takes a very deep breath in and I brace for the SCREAM! And wait. And wait. And wait. And then think, hrm, he must have hurt himself more than I thought. It wasn’t a hard bang. And wait. And wait. And then think I think I’ve waited more than long enoug.“Ok, come on, breath. Breath. Breath. Breath” and watch his head pull to one side and he’s out to it.

Oh, FUCK!

I scream for hubby, race to the lounge, still topless and pants undone, front door wide open (thankfully I ran in the other direction!), Grumpy calls 000 while I attempt to calm self enough to determine if he has actually started breathing yet (NO!) and whether that racing heart beat was his or mine (His. Thank FUCK!)

Grumpy is talking to the operator, and his Mums is standing out of the way, observing and trying to keep us relatively calm. Grumpy has no clue as to what happened, so with a now breathing and semi-crying baby, I take over to explain. Chippie keeps drifting in and out, crying and standing on the couch (yeah, good one, lets go for seconds, hey?) when he’s with us, then flopping when he’s out. I hear the ambulance and figure getting my gear on would probably be a good idea.

Hand phone back to Grumpy, back to bathroom to get dressed, Chippie comes too, grabs the phone and hangs up. I walk out the front, wave down the ambulance and plead for valium.

A check over, stats are all normal, but he’s still drifting off, no one able to determine if its because he should have been in bed asleep a good hour ago, or if he’s losing consciousness. We “win a trip to the hospital”.

I’ve been a mum for 9 years and (almost) 1 month, and it occurs to me I’ve never had to do this before.

In we hop, Chippie then decides to stand on me and scream for a good portion of the way. Not sure if its because he should have been asleep an hour ago, or if he has a headache.

Taken to emergency, where he is still absolutely filthy and now has no mark at all to show where he collected his noggin, we’re ditched partway through registering at triage for an “obstructed airway” and he smiles nicely at the nurse when she returned. Emergency is like a war zone of virus infected children (all of whom came in verging on comatose, and were now racing around, squealing, on the playground situated in the waiting area) and we’re placed in the queue, but told to hang around for at least 2 hours, monitor his behaviour etc and report anything if it changes.

Handed a fact sheet on head injuries, I’m sure with a slight Yeah, you’re one of those paranoid mothers who brings her kid in for everything look by one of the nurses. I did have to hand it back to her so she could explain to me what to watch for while we sat. And waited.

We sat for nearly an hour, waiting for the vomiting that can occur, whilst Chippie had his milk, smiled and babbled to everyone who would look at him, then climbed off our laps (Grumpy had arrived to meet us) and went exploring. I read the fact sheet and what to look for. What do they mean “over the next 2-3 days”??? This goes on? And what’s this bit about “over the next few weeks”?

It appears the bump on the noggin affected his speed, increasing it to a level I had not seen it before, nor seen sustained for so long, and given him a propensity to climb up tubular slides, which he previously avoided like the plague, and climb up so far I was forced to follow him in and retrieve him. That was interesting and, apparently entertaining, for all those around us.

We went home after an hour. Partly due to the fact his boisterousness had exceeded all known levels, and I was getting That Look from other parents who claimed their kids were sick (It’s just a virus) and were in emergency coz the doctors were all closed.

Had a bath. And, due to the innate and significantly increased levels of paranoia mothers of children taken off in ambulances experience, he’s coming to bed with me. Grumpy gets one of the kids beds. Secretly, I think he likes that concept – it means he won’t be woken at Stupid O’Clock and I’ll have to deal with it all myself.

Affter reading the fact sheet, I don’t think I’m going to be unparanoid until the “over the next few weeks, watch for” is over.