I try to be a fun and spontaneous mom (when I'm in the mood and I have time for it.) The other day, for instance, Paul was going off about buses and trains and so on a whim, we hopped on the El and rode it eight stops down and back and he was sufficiently delighted, talking about the "choo choo train" the entire time. Monday night, though, I thought my fun spontaneity might have given my kid brain damage.

After dinner, Steve was getting ready to go out to meet a friend (which he RARELY does) so I was happy for him to go out and for myself to have a night to watch "Downton Abbey" reruns and finally get around to reading the 40 pound September issue of Bazaar I had lying around. I'd taken Paul's clothes off for his bath when he started goofing around and putting his head on the floor. "Are you trying to do a somersault?" I asked him. "Do you want to see Mommy do a somersault?"

I don't think he even said "Okay!" but I was going to do this. I was going to be the fun mom who did somersaults. As he stood in the doorway to the bathroom, I got ready to do a somersault down the hall. I put my head on the floor and thought for a second, "Oof. I can't do this. I'm too big and old and stiff." But then, this stupid determination set in. I was going to complete this somersault! And be fun and spontaneous! Slowly, my butt and legs finally came down over my head. And onto Paul, who, being quiet for the first time all week, had snuck behind me.

I sat up quickly and gathered him in my arms in case he was getting ready to cry. I didn't think that much of it in the moment to be honest: he's a very energetic little boy who has fallen down and run into stuff dozens of times already, always bouncing back quickly. I was more embarrassed than scared at first.

But then I noticed he wasn't crying. And he wasn't smiling. He wasn't even looking at me. When I picked him up, his whole back was arched and his head was back and his eyes were rolling back in his head.

"Oh no." I said. "Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Steve? STEVE!?" I didn't know whether Steve had left to go out to meet his friend yet or not and so my mind raced about whether I should call 911 first or run out the door and yell to him down the street.

Steve hadn't left yet, and in the short time it took me to get downstairs, Paul had come to and started crying hysterically. "Call 911!" I said. "No, wait! Let's just go to the hospital!" I was ready to go without my shoes on, without putting clothes on Paul, without putting him in the carseat, just holding him in the car. Steve convinced me to at least get some clothes for Paul, and by the time I had gotten downstairs with some footie pajamas, a diaper bag and my phone charger, Paul was totally back to normal again, playing with some batteries and screw drivers we had in the office (because as you can tell, we are great parents!) 

We debated taking him to the hospital, because by that point, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Still, head injuries are getting a lot of exposure right now (thanks, NFL!) and my friend Kelly's daughter Willa had had a scary fever-related seizure not long before. It was absolutely horrifying to see Paul nonresponsive like that--a screaming, hysterical baby was infinitely preferable to a floppy, eye-rolly one. I paged our pediatrician's office and they called us right back. Without evaluation, they told me, it was hard to tell, so it was best to take him in. It sounded like maybe he had had a seizure that had been brought on by a concussion. They'd leave word at the ER at the children's hospital.

Paul was happy and chatty on the way to the hospital, probably excited that we were going somewhere instead of it being bedtime (it was around 7:30 PM at this point.) This helped me calm down from feeling horrible that a.) I had broken my child by being a total idiot b.) on a much lesser level, our night was ruined. At check-in and as we waited, there was absolutely no sign that anything had ever been wrong. If anything, Paul was soaking up the attention he was getting in the waiting room. He ran circles around the stools. He threw his toy bear up in the air and fetched it. He waved and said hi to the other people in the waiting room. It was a relief to see him be normal and not fall asleep or throw up or anything and it was honestly nice to be distracted from the many sad sights and sounds of a children's hospital ER. As Steve said, nothing makes you forget your own bullshit like a children's hospital.

Paul was examined by nurses and then three separate doctors and each time put on a little show for them (he discovered a fun game where he could put his toy on a stool and spin it around to make it fly off. Future physicist?).

We were in the ER until about 11PM, which isn't too bad, I'd say, in ER time. Each time I re-described what had happened, how I wasn't sure how I had landed on him because I couldn't see, but it didn't feel that serious. On top of that, Paul's currently got a bunch of nasty scabs on his head thanks to his head-banging, so I had to explain that each time.

Finally, thankfully, THANK GOD, the doctors agreed that Paul did not seem to have a concussion (he was happily eating snacks by the time we left) nor need any type of scan. What had happened likely sounded like something called a breath-holding spell, wherein a kid will turn blue or white or seem to have a seizure after being upset or frightened. It's probable that I just shocked Paul when I landed on him, hence what happened.

Apparently, this is quite common, and parents should learn to watch out for the signs of breath-holding spells and learn to snap kids out of them. That is fine, but how come nobody told me about this? If there was something out there that was like "Head falling off spells," where it looked like your kid's head had fallen off but it was really just a little trick they played, don't you think you would like to be warned about this? I'm basically just convinced at this point that children are living ghouls. Between the head banging and the night terrors and now this, I think they exist only to terrify us.

I am glad more than anything else that it was just a breath holding spell. And I am glad for Lurie Children's Hospital. And I am NEVER being fun and spontaneous ever again.