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Sorry for the long breaks between blogs.  Finishing up my courses, planning a surprise party for my wife (more on that later), and dealing with being a teacher have all conspired to suck up all my time.

Also, I recently purchased Minecraft.  That was unwise.

But, seeing as I envision this blog to be a kind of time capsule for my daughter, I feel that I should set all other concerns aside to tell this story:

On Sunday night, I was upstairs on bed duty.  I have a routine with Abby (about which I wrote in the previous post), and things progressed as usual.  Before reading her bedtime stories, however, she wanted to put her Minnie and Stella dolls into her crib to wait for her.  She stood on her toes, easily cleared the top of the crib wall, and dropped them in.

“Hmm,” I thought to myself.  “She’s getting really tall.”

After her stories I put her to bed, headed downstairs, and started picking up the living room.

An hour later, Erin and I heard the loudest thud we’d ever heard in our lives.

I knew what it was the second I heard it; Abby’s room is right above our living room and we can hear just about every move that she makes, and this one was far, far louder.  Erin was up the stairs before I was even out of my seat.  She was holding Abby by the time I got up to her room.

You would think that a kid that had just climbed out of her crib, fallen, and broken her arm would cry for longer than twenty seconds, but she was settled down in no time.  Erin was still shaking long after Abby was back in bed and asleep (minus the side of the crib, since I would not risk her jumping out again), and if Abby felt really hurt, she showed no signs of it at all.  Even when I checked both her wrists, moving them around and asking if it hurt her at all, she just shook her head and told me no.

That’s where mother’s instinct comes in.  Erin watched Abby carefully the next morning, and she didn’t like the way she was favouring her right hand.  When she asked Abby about her left, Abby merely said that it was “sore” and continued playing happily.  While I couldn’t see anything wrong, she knew better, and convinced me that we needed to visit urgent care.

I won’t go through all the details of that three-hour visit, but I will say that Abby was a trooper, that I cried far more than she did, and that she walked out of there with a bunch of new stickers and a splint.  It was a buckle fracture of the distal radius, which (according to our doctor) is a very common one for kids her age, and one that always heals just fine.  She seems to have adapted to her splint and the limited use of her left hand, she hasn’t once complained about the pain, and she only freaks out about the fact that none of her fuzzy gloves fit properly right now.

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