Tummy Trouble

Long ago my big brother encouraged me to trust that feeling in my gut—you know the one you experience when something is just not right or something bad is on the horizon. Granted he was mostly warning his little sister about the guys out there with indecent intentions, but I have learned to rely on that weird feeling. How I wish I had been listening to my problem-prophesying belly today. My son and I had just returned from our late morning grocery trip and unloaded all the food. Of course he wanted to open the SpongeBob Cheez-Its immediately, but I advised him that we didn’t want to ruin our lunch. So instead we put up the groceries and went outside to play for a little while.

Our retired, friendly neighbor stopped by our house, and he and I were standing just inside my open garage door while he explained to me how to properly mix leaf blower oil. All the while I was watching my son ride up and down our sloped driveway into the garage, each time starting higher at the top. Trying not be rude, I would occasionally excuse myself and offer a parental warning, such as “Be careful” or “That’s as high as you should go” to my brave big wheel racer. A couple of times I noticed my belly felt a little funny—perhaps it was hunger pangs or maybe even the extra piece of cake I had for dessert last night calling to haunt me.

Mr. Helpful-but-takes-really-long-to-pass-along-his-wisdom was juuuuuuust about done going over the oil process, and I looked up noticing my son starting at the very top of the driveway. My gut let out a scream, but the drama was already it motion. My little speedster quickly transformed into a terrific tumbler and landed on his beautiful, perfectly soft, previously unblemished face, landing just inches from my feet.

As I quickly cradled my little man in my arms, cursing myself in my head and frantically searching over his sweet body making sure all the parts were still there (and thankfully they were), my eyes landed on a three-inch diameter scrape a half centimeter from his gorgeous green right eye. After realizing all would be okay, my oil informant walked back to his house, as I carried my now calm but slightly whimpering son.

After cleaning his wound, we decided it best to skip a regular, well-balanced lunch and went straight for the Cheez-Its, and yes, I allowed him to eat all of them that he wanted before naptime. As my son slumbers and I write this, my belly feels quite uneasy, but at least this time I can blame SpongeBob.