I’ve never thought of a picnic table as a dangerous thing, but they are. At least the one in the park was. Grandpa and I took the two little girls for an afternoon of fun. We did have fun…at least up to the picnic table accident. We had a picnic earlier in the afternoon. We chased birds and played on the swings and waded in the creek and just had a wonderful few hours. Before heading back to their house, we stopped at a shady picnic table to watch the kids from the summer rec program play football and limbo and dance. We joined in dancing and had cookies and juice and cracked peanuts for the ‘quirrels. My youngest granddaughter tried to catch a few more birdies and we were just getting ready to leave when it happened. Our three-year-old sweetheart fell off the picnic table and whacked her head on the cement underneath and landed on her arm.
It happened in slow motion, but I couldn’t reach fast enough to save her. Grandpa sat helplessly on the other side of the table holding her sister with a panicked look on his face. My face matched his. I tried to keep her still until I could assess the situation, but she was instantly screaming and moving around and holding her arm. Okay, I’ve raised three kids. I handled broken bones and hospital stays and surgeries and falls from stunts and well, I’ve raised three kids…so why did I fell like instantly screaming and thrashing around, too? Well, grandkids are just different. You hurt twice as bad because they are twice removed genetically I guess. Or, they are just twice as cute. Or, you just have twice as much time to love them or, well, it just hurts twice as bad.
I made the phone call to Mommy and told her to meet us at the hospital. That’s a toughie, too. I broke her kid! I was in charge! I’m a Grandma for criminitly! I’m supposed to be the protector of all! She was cool about it…I freaked out. I tried to act all mature and calm while inside I was screaming, “I BROKE MY GRANDDAUGHTER!”
The doctor doesn’t think the arm is broke…We still are waiting to see if it gets better by tomorrow. If it hasn’t she’ll go back for more x-rays. She had a slight concussion. I was sooooo worried. I felt my heart breaking. I would have gladly taken a nose dive off that table seat and ripped my arm from the socket if I could have made it better for my little sweetie. My son said, “Mom, you didn’t worry about me like that. Remember that time I got hit in the head during the baseball game and needed stitches and you told the ump I couldn’t go to the hospital because you didn’t have any subs. And remember when I jumped out of that swing and you wouldn’t take me to…” Blah, blah, blah. Yes, Son, I remember. This is different. I’m a grandma now…I’m supposed to be superhuman and clairvoyant…yes, I’m a grandma, a grandma who broke a kid.
