I know she’s not the only one who uses them, but I feel like I should thank Tottums for the #boymom hashtag right now.
So let’s talk about being a mom to two little boys.
It’s hard. It’s wonderful. It stinks [badly] sometimes.
It inevitably comes with injuries. Bumps, bruises, scraped knees . . . We’ve had them all so far. Friday, we were able to tick off another item on that list.
Oh yes, my three year old got his first stitches on Friday. One for every year of his life, just under his chin.
What happened? Oh, this is totally my fault. I’m a little ashamed to admit this, to be honest. We were at my dad and his girlfriend’s house because they’d invited us over to go swimming. [I mentioned Little Bear’s reaction in yesterday’s post.] Probably about half an hour after we got there, I caught Butter going up the steps, shimmying his way onto the side of the pool, and jumping in from there.
This is where it becomes my fault.
Instead of reprimanding him and telling him, no, he shouldn’t do that, I told him about when I was a little girl. I’d go swimming with my cousins at my Aunt Charlotte’s house and we did that exact same thing. Mind you, we walked around half the pool to jump in and we were all a bit older than three. I digress. From then on, it seemed Butter couldn’t be stopped.
And it was fine. He always had someone standing right there with him. In fact, more than half of the time, I was holding his hand. But when everyone else had gotten out of the pool and he was insisting he was staying in, there was no one to hold his hand.
I had my back turned, so I don’t know exactly how he slipped. [I was seeking my dad’s assistance in getting LB dry.] I just know I heard a thud and Miss Linda gasping. I handed LB off to my dad and ran the five feet or so to get Butter. I gave him a once over and thought he was fine. Then I noticed his chin was bleeding. When I looked at the cut, I just knew.
I got him dried off, threw a band aid on his chin to hold some of the blood in, and headed to the nearest hosptial, which happened to be the children’s hospital. This is where I really crack myself up. I walked into the ER with a scared looking boy [who wasn’t crying at all at this point] and said, “Hi, we need stitches.”
Butter is fine. He got to watch TV, play games, and see part of a movie before the doctors came to clean and stitch him up. He was amazed the TV knew his name. He got stickers and a toy car. He only squeezed my hand a few times when he was actually getting the stitches because he was scared. He kept remarkably still.
All in all, I’m proud of him. And because LB was there part of the time, I’m so grateful for hospital staff who cater to the whims of a bored one year old. He got crackers and milk and toys to play with. And thank God for smart phones with Disney Junior apps on them, because that? Had both boys sitting still for a while.