The last place we hoped to be on Christmas Day was in the A&E department with our 4-year old.
While packing the car for various family visits over the festive season, we prepared for every eventuality we could think of. This did not include how to dress, travel, and entertain a child with a broken right arm.
It happened before we had even sat down for lunch.
One moment, he was bouncing merrily on a bed with his cousins; as they played a game with Auntie BB that they had played many times before.
The next, he landed awkwardly on his elbow and started to cry.
We all thought he would be fine. Assumed at most, there would be a bruise. He cuddled up next to me, until eventually gave into tiredness and fell asleep.
As he had been up and in extreme excitement mode since 4.30am, when he first realised that ‘FATHER CHRISTMAS HAS BEEN, MUMMY! HE’S REALLY BEEN!’, I covered him with a blanket and let him rest on the sofa, while the rest of us clinked glasses and tucked into Yiayia’s turkey… #badmother
When he woke up about an hour later, his arm was still sore to touch. He tentatively let me take a closer look and I could see that it was also now quite swollen and a small egg shape had formed.
So, we called a taxi and off to A&E we went.
An x-ray confirmed that his bone was fractured and a half-cast was applied to his little arm. Although, we do have to go back to the hospital once the swelling has settled, to have a full cast put on.
He is coping so well. He is slowly working it all out – from eating, drawing, colouring-in and playing on the iPad using only his left hand, to going to the toilet by himself.
I on the other hand, am not coping quite so well.
Aside from the gut wrenching guilt that my baby had a broken arm while I was busy pulling crackers and taking selfies, there is the overwhelming sadness for a little boy who will not be able to swim, ride his bike, go to the playground, or jump on the bed again for quite some time.
I feel absolutely broken too.