Playing SuperDad

superdad

Yesterday I played SuperDad to my little girl.

What was supposed to be a quiet time at home with my seven-year-old daughter turned out to be the most nerve-wracking day of the year for me. We were chilling in front of the TV post-lunch when it happened. I remember trying to doze off and noticing her leaving my side, then — BAM! — a loud crash from the bathroom. Chaos ensued: a bleeding head, a lot of panic-stricken movements, a mad dash to the hospital emergency room in the middle of a scorching afternoon.

It was insane.

But, long story short, everything turned out copacetic in the end. The CT scan came back clean, and we were allowed to go home albeit with a waiver (doctors recommended 24-hour admission, citing “protocol” for kid patients). My daughter didn’t suffer nausea or headache overnight, and actually slept well considering what had just happened. And for that I look forward to a restful weekend with my favorite TV series, comics, and American Gods.

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