The Night That Never Was

She looks harmless enough, right?

Not when you combine her little baby hands with her mommy's eyeballs right before a very important evening out with her husband. A night that's been the reason for not eating all that Halloween candy or consuming anything past six (okay maybe 8) pm? A beacon of light for this house frau who was beyond the moon excited for such an excuse to dress up and enjoy the night without having to worry about feeding, clothing, burping, or soothing another for at least five hours until her husband might need a designated driver. Those Marines can drink.

What do you get? You totally get a corneal abrasion to your right eye and a trip to the ER instead of a night out at the fancy shmancy Gaylord Hotel in our nation's capital.

That's right. I accomplished the impossible: canceled our one date of the year.

Did I mention that we had this date planned FOR A YEAR with actual babysitters named Nammy and Pop who love our children and our dog and know the routine without us having to use reams of paper to describe what doesn't eat what and what and who will try to sneak cookies into the living room by way of backpack (both Grayson and Sadie in case you're not sure.)

The best part? It happened literally two hours before we were supposed to go. Two ridiculous hours. 120 minutes. It's so sad and pitiful that I am having a hard time describing just how close we were to leaving the house. (Also having a hard time writing literally b/c a glowing computer screams obscenities at a dilated pupil but two sunglasses and lots of squinting are doing wonders here.) But no. Abby and her sweet little fingernails had other plans.

Abby has been playing a game called, "Poke Eye," for days. I correct her. As much as an 11 month old can be corrected but she laughs and giggles regardless and thinks it's a party anyway.

As I sat to nurse her, two of Abby's little baby fingers and their corresponding baby fingernails made direct contact with my right eyeball. Why my eye didn't blink is beyond me. It let me down when I needed it most. We're still not speaking. It did not blink. In fact, it took actual conscious effort for me to blink that damn eyeball once it had been assaulted by those tiny pokers connected to a very pleased baby girl. Who was laughing.

"No Abby, no poke eye. No poke eye."

"Heeeeheeeeheeeehheeee."

"No Abby. Not funny. Hurt Mommy. No poke eye."

"Gaaa! Eeeegableeeeheeeheeeheee."

Clearly I wasn't sending the right message. So I scooped her up, sent her to the arms of a person with visual acuity and went to the solace of a wet washcloth. It'll be fine, just a poke, it'll be fine. Ten minutes later and my eyeball is puffing up the size of the baby fist that tried to fit inside it moments befire. More washcloth, some FreshTears (liquid love for the cornea), and some pacing. Crap, this is starting to feel familiar. (I had just endured this same exact injury at the paws of my dog a year ago wherein I hobbled from door to door like a lost Avon Lady to find someone oh dear God anyone to drive me and my toddler to the doctor.)

The rest went a lot like you can imagine. I gutted it out for the first hour knowing I'd be fine in a few minutes and the night could carry on as planned. Then, the second hour approached and every time I moved my eye even one millimeter it sent seering pain to every nerve ending in my skull. My eyeball was on fire and no amount of Murine was putting it out. Still I refused to believe I screwed things up this much and showered, blow dried the hair, put the dress, jewelry, and shoes on and started the make up. The make up. Oh the dreadful eye powdery make up that reminded my eyeball why it wasn't going to let us go anywhere but the hospital that night.



















(Notice the wincing? Cute. Just what my husband wants to bring to meet the Colonel and his wife.)

So I changed out of the dress, the shoes, the earrings, et al. and into clothes that would inevitably get H1N1'ed on and my husband and I went off to spend the evening in a triage at INOVA ER instead of the Gaylor Hotel. A bottle of percoset (untouched, that stuff is worse than the unforgiving firepit that is my eyeball- and there are people who want to feel that way on purpose?)

I am trying to forgive my accident proned self and maybe take away a lesson from the past 48 hours. It's not working. I cannot find one teachable moment here to save my life. It's just the Night That Never Was. Not many redeeming qualities other than forced bed rest and keenly acute senses kicking in since seeing isn't happening. Come to think of it, I have had a blast listening to my family carry on without me and a number of times today fell asleep listening to them play, sing, and chatter away.

Next year? I'm wearing wrap around your head safety goggles all freaking day long. And giving any poking baby fingers a wide berth. And perhaps going to wear the same red dress so pretend you never saw it, k?