The one about the bike.

A parenting trauma on replay.

Sep 18, 2024

We head out on a quick family walk around the block before the chicken is done roasting in the oven. We click on Caroline’s bike helmet and head on our normal route. As we turn left onto Maple St., Caroline tells us she wants to go straight instead.

“I want to go down the hill!” she yells.

“We don’t have time for that, we need to get the chicken out of the oven,” I remark, and tell her there’s a different hill the way we’re headed.

We cross the busy road and enter the new neighborhood. She barrels down the hill on her blue balance bike, lifting her feet off the ground, cruising with confidence.

“You’re getting so brave on the bike! Look at you go!”

We plan to turn around at the black mailbox, but since it’s nice out, and she’s having fun- we keep going. She tells us she needs to go potty, so we ride up the steep hill to the trail and she pees in the grass, tucked away behind the bushes.

“I don’t want to ride anymore, mom,” she tells me as we come out of the woods. I internally debate what to say as we’re always on her about “committing to the bike if you say you want to ride it, and we’re not going to carry it home when you said you wanted to bike, and that’s part of being a big girl.”

Clayton heads down the hill, pushing Kate ahead in the running stroller.

“Just think, if you ride down this hill, you’ll be halfway home!” I tell her as I click her helmet strap around her little chin. “Have fun, baby!”

She takes off on the bike and picks up speed, she starts to yell out as her handlebars wobble uncontrollably. She drags her feet across the concrete, but it doesn’t slow her down. She loses control. Her body lurches forward over the handlebars. I sprint down the hill.

When I get to her, Clayton has already scooped her tiny body off the pavement, her face and his shirt covered in blood.

“DAMN IT!, DAMN IT!, DAMN IT!” I yell, instantly nauseous, instantly full of regret, instantly angry. Everything is fast and slow at the same time.

I ask to see her face, her mouth covered in blood. She opens and I see a dark hole where her left front tooth was minutes before. My mind instantly goes to unknown places, her kindergarten picture, the christmas card, the family reunion we have next weekend, will the kids at school say mean things?

We check her over, her mouth having taken the biggest hit, Clayton begins running towards the house to further evaluate her as I yell from behind that we should go to the emergency room.

Without thinking, I turn back to look for the tooth. There on the concrete is her perfect, dainty, white, beautiful front tooth– root and all. I pick it up, and begin to run with the stroller back to the house as I call our dear friend and doctor, Dana. She talks in calm, easy phrases as I frantically recall the events and she tells me to see if there is an emergency or urgent dental care in town.

I cart Kate into the house that smells oflike thyme and vegetables and roasted chicken baking undisturbed in the oven. Clayton has wiped Caroline down and is holding a bag of frozen blueberries over her swollen lip. Not wanting to take Kate with us to the ER, I call our neighbor Shannon who immediately picks up.

“Can you come over to watch Kate? We need to take Caroline to the Emergency Room.”

We hang up, and before I can step outside to see if she is making her way over, she is standing there in our kitchen taking Kate out of my arms. I place the tooth in a sandwich bag and dash out the door with Clayton and Caroline.

The waiting room is full of ailments and drowsy children as we check-in and are seen by the triage nurses. “Caroline, can you tell us what hurts?”, the nurse gently asks as they wrap the tiny ID band on her wrist and check her vitals.

“My knee,” she quietly remarks, which is red and raw and resembles the strawberry we had for snack before this whole thing happened. We exhale a bit with her commentary.

We take the tooth out of the sandwich bag and place it into a clear jar. The nurses cover it in milk.

As we wait for a room to open, Clayton searches for emergency dental doctors in the area, while I text Shannon asking her to take the chicken out of the oven. He calls one with good reviews, and the on-call doctor says he can meet us in 20 minutes. We look at each other as we try to make a decision for what is best–staying in the ER, or leaving to see this dentist– wishing someone else would just tell us the right thing to do.

We decide to bail on the ER and head to the dentist. Dr. Garret meets us in the parking lot. We explain and thank and explain some more. He gently evaluates Caroline, who obediently lays still on the chair while covered in scratches and swelling. Dr. Garret takes x-rays and tells us we must keep the tooth out, as a tiny portion of root is still attached, and there’s not enough to reconnect to her currently milk-covered tooth. But, "thankfully, only a baby tooth." he adds.

I couldn’t see the thanks, or the good news. I could only see regret for letting her go down the hill.

We finish up our visit and carry Caroline back to the car.

“Why don’t I have a tooth now, mommy?” she asks. Eyes blurring, I kiss her forehead and squeeze in next to her.

We pick up Kate and enter the house, the kitchen smelling of a beautiful dinner, meant to be our Sunday roast. We change the girls into PJ’s, Caroline finally breaking down into tears about bedtime, and the ice pack hurting, and wanting mommy to put her to bed because, “mommy always puts Kate to bed,” she cries between swollen lips.

I curl into bed with Caroline who has refused her pajamas and instead lies on her back in gray butterfly patterned underwear. I rub her belly until she falls asleep, her swollen lip an unrecognizable profile in the night-light glow.

I sneak out and head to the kitchen where Clayton is slicing the chicken to store in tupperware for the week ahead. We look at each other, saying nothing as we shuffle things around the kitchen.

I get ready for bed, pull back the covers, and quickly place them back where they were. I cross the hall and climb into bed next to Caroline, I wrap my arm over her, holding her little fist in my hand. I close my eyes as the incident replays again and again in my mind until sleep takes over.