While We’re Away, the Kids Will Get Hurt

Last weekend, John and I went to BlogHer. For those of you unfamiliar with the conference and too lazy to follow the link (I know who you are.), it is an event for lots of bloggers (mostly of the female variety) to get together to drink network and party boarden their blogging opportunities. It was a really amazing time. John and I are attention whores people persons, so it was great to meet friends, old and new, who until Friday and Saturday had only lived in our computers via Facebook, Twitter, and some truly wonderfully written blogs.
On Saturday evening, we were doing some pre-dinner chatting over some drinks in the hotel bar when a text came in from Alex with this picture.

Yes, that’s Leila’s foot swollen to an alarming size. (Hey, it might not be alarming to you, but it was to her mom.) Alex was asking if she could give her Benedryl. The official party line on Benedryl is that no one under four should even be able to look at the stuff. The unofficial word is that a half dose or so has saved my kids some rough times. So I told Al to do the half dose. She ended up putting some cream on it. By the time we got home on Sunday, the red was gone and the swelling was significantly less. Chances are it was some kind of a bite. She had had something similar around her eye early this summer. The doctor had said keep an eye on it. So, you know, it was not worrisome. I guess.

Now, my sister and my mother did everything I or John would have done for Leila. In no way shape or form would our presence in Carlisle instead of NYC have changed any treatment or conditions. 

Try telling that to my mom guilt heart. I did enjoy myself for the evening over a lovely Italian dinner and too many Asian appetizers, but part of me, more than would have been pre-text message, was trying to parent through my phone; texting questions. Was the foot hot to the touch? Was she favoring it? Did she have a fever? None of which were really constructive, but when your kid is remotely injured or sick, you must know everything. And not being there to find out was painful. While laughing and chatting and watching dogs and bloggers strut down a runway (If you don’t know, you don’t really need to.) a part of me was calculating the potential cabfare and time back to Will’s apartment in Brooklyn (where we stayed) then the drive home if any of the answers my mom or sister were sending me proved too vexing. Maybe hopping a train would be quicker?

Essentially, the point  of the post is, parental love is not logical thus should not be trusted to respond reasonably even if the said parent appears to be acting reasonably. You may find this knowledge useful at some point if you end up dealing with a parent in such a state.

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