If you're counting, this is the fifth collar bone injury we have had in this house. Life with boys?
With the injury and all I thought this was a good time to go back and read about Ashton's other collar bone catastrophes. What I found was a picture of my punkin-head that made me all weird on my insides. My baby. Where did he go? I want to crawl in this picture and hold him tight...except he would scream...because his collar bone was broken.
What's written below was originally posted on October of 2007.
Last night, we were awakened by a screaming child in the hallway.
Ashton stood there, stiff as a board, head down, arms drawn tightly to his chest…loud shrieks coming from his tiny petrified frame.
He could not move his neck.
He would not stop crying.
Because I had just watched House before going to bed, I was positive he had meningitis.
We did what any reasonable person would do.
We called our doctor in the middle of the night and woke him up to see if Ashton was going to die.
He said no.
Ashton said he did not fall out of his bed.
So maybe these neck cramps were simply the result of sleeping all founky in his bed or something.
We laid him down on the floor in our room.
Every time we touched him he screamed…loudly. Like a pterodactyl.
He laid there with Aaron until about 3:00 a.m.
I’m not sure any of us actually slept, because Ashton did not stop crying.
Then, Ashton said he wanted in bed with mama.
We put him in bed between us…same scenario.
Lots of crying…lots of dinosaur bird screaming.
At 5:00 a.m. we finally realized that Ashton MUST have fallen out of his bed. This meant, the damage was probably far greater than a crick in his neck.
The only time he moved his arm was to point across the room and say, "I want you to go over there."
This was his way of telling us to stop touching him.
We were sure something was broken.
Aaron loaded him up and off they went to the ER.
They got home at 8 a.m.
Ashton had fractured his collar bone.
They drugged him good, so he slept almost all day.
Now here’s the dilemma we are faced with this wonderful evening.
Of all the apparel someone should choose to break their collar bone in, these pajamas would never be top choice.
Ashton can’t lift his arms.
He can barely move them at all.
These are the ever-popular pajamas made for kids these days…you know the ones that are the size of panty hose?
Without arms inside them, the material where the arms go looks the same size as Barbie socks.
How arms fit in them, I don’t know.
This phenomenon should be studied like Stonehenge.
I also don't know how Barbie sock pajamas keep your kids from bursting into flames.
It's a mystery.
So here we have Ashton….
Broken boned, Ashton.
In pajamas that are not bath conducive.
Yet Ashton unfortunately happens to be VERY sweaty and nasty from being at the hospital and in the bed doped up on codeine all day today.
We need these pajamas off.
To make matters worse, these are Ashton’s FAVORITE pajamas.
His absolute favorite.
I knew this was going to be an issue at about 3 this morning.
These pj’s will eventually have to come off…but how?
Aaron and I had a little pow wow about how to get our boy naked.
We could get the pajamas off two ways...
1. Remove them the normal way, moving his arm, causing him incredible pain. Cue loud screaming.
2. Cut them off with scissors.
We decided this was one of the best examples of a lose lose situation, if we ever saw one.
Ashton would react to both choices with hysterics.
Either way…major screaming and sadness.
We broke huddle, confronted the boy and tested our theory.
I said, “Ashton, do you want me to take your pajamas off the regular way…and hurt your arm while I’m doing it…or do you want me to cut your shirt off your body with scissors, but not hurt your arm at all.”
He looked at us like we asked him if he thought it would be ok to chop his legs off.
He simply said, wide eyed, “I don’t like this.”
Aaron’s idea was different.
He says to Ashton, “Do you want to take a bath with your pajamas on?”
We had not discussed this option in our meeting. Aaron was flying solo on this one...thinking on his toes.
Now both Ashton and Ashton’s mom stared back at Aaron like he had lost his mind.
Aaron defended his plan saying, “He will eventually dry. We could lay him on a towel and keep him warm somehow until he dried out.”
Oh heavens. We need some parenting classes.
I reminded Aaron that the pajamas would eventually have to come off our baby boy, some time before his arm healed.
We needed to regroup.
Then my brilliant husband came up with plan C.
Aaron says to our sad son, “What if I get you some new pajamas?”
Ashton liked this.
However, since I have been given the gift of telepathy…a rare ability only mothers have to listen to their children think…I sat there, staring at Aaron, anticipating Ashton’s response.
Sure Ashton thought getting him new pajamas was a good idea.
It WAS a good idea.
However, I knew our smart little son would never agree to these terms until the goods were already delivered.
He’s just too brilliant for that.
He looked at his daddy, who had just gotten out of the shower and was only wearing shorts and said, in his sweet Ashton voice…
“I want you to get dressed.”
This means…”Go get the pajamas…now…and let me see them…and then we’ll talk.”
Aaron sat there staring at his clever boy and said, “Ok. I’ll go. All crippled children should get what they want.”
That’s why Aaron is the best dad ever.
He’s at the store right now buying a bed rail and racecar pajamas.
We’ll let you know tonight, how the bath time saga staring a boy and his broken bone turns out.
In moments, we’ll be cutting up pajamas.
Ashton got us to agree to cut out the motorcycle so he could keep it forever.
This was after Aaron suggested that we cut his favorite pajama shirt right up the middle and make it into a jacket....or a vest.
Ashton was not impressed.