Chippie, the toddler and littlest one, has a hard, red lump on his foot.
It’s been there two days. Well, at least I noticed it two days ago. It may or may not have been there longer.
It’s not bothering him.
It’s bothering me. A lot.
I suspect it might be a teensy shard of glass in his foot, after he successfully shattered a wine glass three nights ago. Thankfully, there was no wine in it at the time. Lucky.
Or, quite possibly, he has stood on something and bruised his foot, causing the lump. A Lego piece is highly likely. Extremely likely.
The fact its not hurting him is causing me confusion and, subsequently, concern. If it were hurting, I would be less concerned.
So off to the doctor we go. He diagnoses “most likely a spider bite” and sends us home on Foot Watch, whereby we are to just keep an eye on his foot and if we see red marks up his ankle to then administer antibiotics. If it goes past the ankle, we are to head immediately to the Royal Children’s Hospital Emergency department.
The red marks, he informs us, should start to appear 48 hours after the bite. That would be tomorrow morning. Oh, goody.
As is the tradition with my family – yes, the husband included – they choose the most insane times to require emergency departments of hospitals. Also, the love the “wait and see” thing, where everything could result in being totally OK and nothing to worry about (and leaving you feeling like an idiot for being so worried) or a trip to emergency (leaving you feeling like world’s worst mum for not doing something sooner)
Ah, nothing like being in slightly panicked limbe two days out from Christmas.