I need a mother of the year award. I ran over my own child's foot. Jeez!
We were leaving the church 4th of July party and I thought Natalie was already in the car. I was distracted and tired and in the habit of starting the car as the girls are shutting their doors. Dumb.
I hear her scream and I think that she and Shelby are fighting. Again. But then she yells, "You're on my foot!" And it takes me a minute (not literally) to think that I need to back up the car and get off of her foot. Holy Crap.
I immediately scoop her up into the back seat and look at her foot, it's torn up a bit on one side and bruising on the other. Shelby is freaking out. Panicking. She runs up to get her church-uncle to help us.
I am not panicking, although I feel like crap about the whole thing. I take off her sandal thinking that if her foot starts swelling it will have to be cut off. I hold her foot in a towel. There's not much blood and I give it the once-over and it doesn't look broken.
Dan comes and carries her to his truck and shuttles her back to his house, then carries her to a chair in the backyard and begins icing her foot. He is wonderful, calm, reassuring. He has her push with her toes against his hand and says that he thinks she'll be fine. That if it were broken she couldn't do that. We give her Tylenol and I have to deal with the fact that the rest of the party goers know that I'm a horrible mom. Who drives over their own child's foot? Seriously?
I take her home and we continue to ice it. I'm surprised by how good it looks, considering. We got really lucky. The blessing is that Shelby is falling all over herself to take care of her sister. She's bringing her stuff, helping her walk and get dressed, wrapping her foot in an Ace bandage. It's very sweet.
The next day, Nat is able to walk on it. It's all good. Except for the guilt.
...and PS, yes I did try to take her to the immediate care clinic, but it was closed. Go figure, that's our small town for ya.