The scream

Our perfect summery carefree Easter ended with a bloodcurdling, gray-my-hair scream at the bottom of our basement stairs.

Jilly has always been a screamer. A great screamer. When she is angry, she will scream knowing that it is as painful as a slap. When she falls and scrapes her knee, her hands, her elbow, I'll hear her scream and rush to her side. A band-aid fixes all.

But, this scream couldn't be stopped with a band-aid. Missing the first stair in our cold concrete basement, she fell sideways and slammed her tailbone into the corner of the stair. A red welt rose up where she hit.

We carried her to the couch, covered her bottom with ice and fed her candy which helped. But an hour later, she needed help to get dressed and brush her teeth. She cried out in bed, but more ice and pain reliever tablets helped her relax enough to sleep.

And, now I wait at my kitchen table to see what today will bring. Will there be more ice and pain-relief tablets, or a hospital visit for x-rays?

In the early morning light, I wait for her call, although I naively hope that she'll bound down the stairs instead and ask for candy.

This morning? She can have it.

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My little girl is standing on her own now. She can walk v-e-r-y slowly and is sitting up on a pillow. I think it's just a bad bruise, so we'll just take it easy for a few days.