I had the 25th Day of Pleasure in the bag! I was going to write about Dash's second Angels game (we won!) and Aunty's graduation party (she has a Master's Degree!) and about how this project seems to have wrapped up at just the perfect moment as I can see the light changing from the bright, optimistic yellow of summer to the faded, hunkered down amber of fall, the smell of the air going from new grass to old leaves. (When you live in LA and the temps stay right around 95 degrees through October, you become adept at noticing the subtle changes in the seasons.)
But. But I got a call this afternoon from Dash's school that some little turd knocked him off the play castle and there was a lot of blood but he didn't pass out but you'd better come get him. So.
His hair had a faint pink sheen when I got him home. By the time he woke from his nap, there was a matted patch of brown-red hair in the back of his head and the pillow was bloody. I called Josh home because I can handle a lot but I can't handle a bloody child. We took him to urgent care (we must have a fast pass or something because although we were told repeatedly that the wait was two and a half hours we were out in 20 minutes) and while the sweet doctor was cleaning and gluing him up I about passed out. Not in a "ha ha, I almost passed out" way, but in a "Josh, do you have him? Because I'm going to fall on the floor" way. Not my strongest moment in mothering.
Anyway, superficial gash, no stitches required, just a haircut and some adhesive strips.
And apparently, after two surgeries plus a c-section, two HSGs, countless blood draws (seriously, like 100 in a year) and injections into my belly and ass by my husband, I can no longer deal with the sight of blood. I am, you understand, the mother of a fearless two-and-a-half-year-old boy. And I am afraid of blood. Awesome.
2 comments:
That's why you have me, baby.
Ok, the next few years could be a little trying what with him being a boy and all. But I'm with you on this. I've suddenly developed a squeamishness for blood and anything dash/danger related. Like when he fell down the stairs and there was a big dent in his head. That was not good and I nearly threw up. (He's perfectly fine now.)
Deep breath... friggin motherhood.
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