I'm My Own Grandma

Last week around this time, my parents came up to visit the kids for the afternoon. It’s been a running joke that every time we let them watch the kids on their own, one of them ends up injured. Not the parents, mind you, but one of our kids. It usually is something like a scrape, a scratch, a bruise or busted lip and typically, it results from one of the kids not navigating my folks’ surroundings with the same amount of familiarity as their own home.
So we didn’t think much of the fact that harm could be done as they took the kids down to the park while we went grocery shopping.
What could possibly happen?
Apparently, more than we expected.
We get back with the groceries and immediately notice that Calli isn’t downstairs. My parents are just hanging with Ethan and I ask, “Is Calli sleeping?” They respond “Yes” and then I jokingly ask if any of them are broken or hurt, a slight dig at the injuries sustained when we leave the kids with them.
No response.
So Callista wakes about thirty minutes later and is especially cuddly. I little while later, we put her on the floor and she immediately grimaces, lifts her left foot up and begins crying.
Something is obviously wrong, and it is at this time my parents admit that something happened at the park.
The park, which is just a few blocks away, contains some fairly modern playground equipment including the obligatory multi-purpose area with slides, tubes, and other shit where kids can act like monkeys. At the end of this is an area where kids, especially older ones, have to climb up to reach the upper area where they are met with a fairly lengthy slide that curls around. It’s about 12 feet high and obviously made for kids that can navigate up the ladder on their own. In other words, it’s not designed for a baby that’s and year-and-a-half old and can’t get up to it by her own means.
Apparently, my mother is following Calli around and she goes through the tube (a first) chasing after her brother who is heading towards the high slide. She gets to the ladder and for some reasons lifts Calli up to the high section where the only option is to go back the way you came to get down or to go down the curly slide.
Callista decides to go down the curly slide.
Not only did it take my parents a while to tell us about this, but more details came to the front as it was pieced together. The obvious question was “Were you with Calli while she was on the highest deck?” to which the next question was “Were you going down the slide with her?” The answer was “She is really fast and headed for the slide before I could get her.” followed by “I was right behind her.” which means that she was on her way down a slide without much supervision.
It should be noted at this point that neither my wife nor I have ever let Calli down that slide or put her up on the high deck that it’s attached to. The reason why? Because it’s not designed for kids Calli’s age.
You can probably figure out where this is going: Callista’s leg gets caught on the way down and gets jerked back causing her to immediately cry out in pain.
My Mother’s maternal instincts kick in and she takes Calli back to our house…where she puts her to fucking bed. Nothing cures a torn muscle, ligament or broken bones better than good old fashion bed rest.
It’s a good thing that my parents often just put me in a room with a bunch or records and a record player growing up, because I’m thinking that if they actually allowed me in a playground that I would have been missing a few limbs by now.
Mom was obviously worried and scared at what my reaction would be. To that point, the manner in which she divulged the information left very little time to get angry. With bits and pieces of information coming forward, you needed time to put it all together, and then it was only later in which you started to replay the situation and consider the huge gaps in what really went down (How did she get up to that top deck again? Why didn’t you tell us what happened when we got home?)
The next day, Calli still wasn’t putting weight on her foot, to which we assumed it was an ankle or knee problem. There was no swelling or bruising, so we didn’t immediately just take her to the emergency room and she could still move both of them without crying or flinching. Plus, if you’ve ever been to an emergency room in a large city, you spend an inordinate amount of time waiting with crazy people just to receive halfassed service at exorbitant prices.
The visit to the doctor pointed towards the hip, probably nothing major, but worth a few x-rays at the hospital. Nothing pointed to a fracture, but still the avoidance of putting weight on her foot caused some stress.
That and our fucking sitter who, after having three kids of her own, makes her an orthopedic specialist. She’s also an educational specialist, stating that Ethan’s school had some issues…none of which she could really identify…even though his school is the newest in the district and comes highly regarded by everyone else.
In other words, she has an opinion about everything and runs her mouth as such.
My Mother offered to come back up and watch Calli if needed during the week so that we could go to work. That’s reassuring. Can we expect more injuries too?
By the end of the week, she would barely stand up so we made an appointment with an orthopedic doctor. Some blood was drawn to see if it was an infection, but no additional x-rays were done. Besides, he said, if it is a break, it’s a minor one and the only option is to put her in a body cast or to leave it alone and let it heal on its own.
At the end of it, I still can’t put my finger on why my own Mother thought that it would be a good idea to let her granddaughter go down a slide that was far beyond her age bracket. To think that all of this would have been avoided with just a modicum of common sense and paternal instinct. I understands she feels band…I would too…But it’s not as bad as I feel when I see our baby in such discomfort or when I feel that I now have to second guess their decisions whenever our kids stay with them.