And then something went "pop."

Today started off good, no, GREAT even. We were completely flying through the activities from library time, to Michael's "Passport to Fun" program and we EVEN WENT TO THE GROCERY STORE! JUST! US! GIRLS! We had a blast, we came home revved up to paint and "cwapft" (i.e. craft) and make dinner.

We went upstairs to visit "Ye Olde Man" and nab some corn he'd picked fresh from the garden. The kids were jumping off the couch (I know... I KNOW...) and we made them stop. So Lillie started sitting on the couch and letting her brother put his arms under hers and pick her up. No big deal, he's done it thousands of times before. I would still wince every time her weight would become too much for him and they'd land in a pile on the floor. Again, NO BIG DEAL. They rough house all the time... and then he turned and landed on her... and something went "pop." My daughter "popped." A cry came out of her unlike any I'd heard before. Not the shrill shriek she'd let out when Logan pinches her. Not the attention cry that all kids have. This cry was mournful and broken like she couldn't quite get her breath. I picked her up begging her to tell me where she hurt and all she could do was cry. No words, just big crocodile tears and that moaning cry. I panicked. I ran her down the stairs, texting my Husband the entire way to please oh PLEASE come out of the office ASAP, she's hurt! Even he can't get her to show him where the pain is. So I try and trick her into getting off the couch herself to see if we can pinpoint what's going on and she tries to walk, but after two limps towards me bursts out into the crocodile tears again. At this point, the Husband runs back and calls into work that he has a family emergency and we do a quick discussion over who should take her and who should stay with Lo till we find out more at the ER. I choose to stay as I'd already done one ER visit with Lo around her age and I can't handle hospitals, let alone the thought of something horrible having happened to my child while I watched oblivious as to what could happen.

I waited for answers from my Husband for what seemed like days, regretting not being there the entire time. How selfish was I to choose staying and not dragging Logan with us till someone could pick him up? It's the woulda/coulda/shouda's that make me consider teaching a "How To Succeed At Bad Parenting" course at the local rec center. The Husband managed to message me that the Doctor claimed she was favoring the opposite leg than what I'd thought, which still concerns me, and that she'd need x-rays but he didn't think it was broken. TWO HOURS LATER... x-rays revealed no breaks and the Doctor proclaimed her to be in good health aside from a possible sprain to her ankle/leg and the popping noise to be nothing more than how she fell.

While I'm glad that they sent her home all smiles and seemingly in good health, I'm still worried. I worry that the Doctor is wrong. I worry that they x-rayed the wrong leg. That they should have done both legs at the same time. That when my Daughter got down to sneak a special treat from her Pappaw tonight, she shouldn't have taken two steps and repeated the physical "crumple" and crocodile tears. I wish I didn't feel so guilty because she is in pain. I want SO badly to believe my instincts right now are dead wrong and that the Doctor is right and she will be walking pain free in a few days, my gut is murmuring something completely different.

"My bwacelet is gonna make my boo-boo all bettuh. Doctor said I "ok" and he told me go home so I can get bettuh at home. I not hurt no mo."