Sitting with my colleagues at the school play, I felt smug. My husband was home with our new baby, and I felt like an adult for the first time in months. It was someone else’s problem to make sure she had a clean diaper or a bottle of formula. Not that my husband didn’t help with the baby, but still. Several months of getting up over and over all night long, and then heading off to work, and I wanted a break.
It wasn’t meant to be.
The first act was barely over when my cell phone rang. Embarrassed, I pulled it out of my purse. It was my husband. I muted my phone and pushed my way past parents and students. My face felt like it was on fire. Why would he call me in the middle of the play? Didn’t he know this was my night out?
“What,” I impatiently demanded.
“It’s C. I set her on the coach and just turned my back for a minute, but she fell off. I think she hit her head. I’m scared. Come home.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Of course, right there actually meant about a half an hour drive, speeding down the dark back roads home. Did she have a concussion? Why did Rob leave her on the coach alone? What were we going to do?
The trip to the emergency room was a blur. By this time, it was so late that the stars seemed to mock our rush to Akron. I grabbed the bucket car seat, and we lurched our way into Children’s. I don’t even remember where we parked that night.
We were surrounded by coughing, wails, and exhausted parents. C seemed fine, but it was our first big accident, and we wanted to be sure.
Several hours later, we knew. C was fine, if a little fussy. What a relief!