Daddy, jungle gym, horsey, orthopedist?

Every day is an adventure with a toddler. Every adventure is a near-catastrophe with a strong willed, smart, rough & tumble, overly vocal boy like Nicky. Some near catastrophes are actual catastrophes.

Linda and I work very hard to find and approach the line that separates "Ah, he's fine. Walk it off, Nick" and "OH MY GOD Call an ambulance!" We want to care for Nicky and ensure every minute of his life is pleasant and happy but we don't want to be "those parents" that hinder his playtime and experiences with being overly cautious.

Last Sunday, Mr. Nick was properly riding "daddy horsey" as I crawled around the house on all fours while he yelled "yee haw" and demanded "more cowboy" over out-of-shape Daddy's panting. I finally collapsed flat, prone, and relieved of duty. My reprieve lasted only moments when 26 pounds of cuckoo landed on the small of my back. I reached back over my own shoulders, grabbed his hands and rose to all fours for round 376 of horsey rides. But Nick wasn't having it. He wanted off. Unlike a toddler to change his mind on such short notice, right?

But something wasn't right. He was off. Whimpering. I must have been a little rough on the last ride. Linda and I discussed. She thought something was really wrong and tended to err on the side of Mommy caution. I figured he caught a bump along the way and he'd be fine in short order. So we waited it out. Upwards of 20 minutes and he was still crying, with minor breaks that aligned with him being still and loud wails that aligned with movement of his right arm. We called the doctor on a Sunday morning, hours before his birthday party, hoping this was really nothing.

When the doctor returned our call I explained exactly what happened, with a primetime TV induced extra layer of caution to be clear this was a playtime accident and nothing more. She asked me very clearly, "Is his arm hanging down by his side with his palm facing to the rear?" I looked puzzled at my phone as if she could see me. "Uhhh...yeah?" She told me his elbow was dislocated and I had to fix it. 

The instructions were clear. Sit behind him. With my right hand tightly hold the sides of his right elbow. With my left hand grab his wrist. Lift and turn until his palm is toward and in front of his face. The moment I moved his arm, he screamed. How could I continue this? Surely I was making it worse and causing more discomfort. I continued. Sure enough, his elbow popped twice as if I cracked the 2 tiniest of knuckles. As it happened, he hit peak volume. And then... it was over.

He sat on Mommy's lap for 2 minutes, mostly from the trauma and being scared more than anything else. And then he stood up, ran away, and resumed playing as if it didn't happen. Linda sat there stunned. I did all I could to not dissemble into a mess of guilt, fright, and relief. I'll never forget the moment I dislocated my boy's elbow and, subsequently, put it back into place. Luckily for him and me, he'll never remember the same moment.