(also, the pics are really crappy because they were taken on my Blackberry and my husband's non-Blackberry)
(and, of course there are pictures of the blood-but-no-guts, because, well, that's what we do. We take pictures when our kids are writhing in pain.)
Happy 5th of July!
For a really good read about the Fourth, and Independence, and how Jesus fits in with both, go read my friend Sarah's blog post right here.
Our holiday was lovely and fun and uneventful... until Jeremy's cousin brought The Girl to me, all weepin' and wailin'.
We were at my mother-in-law's house for our customary cookout. There were about 35 folks there, and since we all sort of parent each other's children, I took solace inside the house (where the a/c and the watermelon waited), while the menfolk and the less-wilty women were outside watching the kids.
That's when my Girl got in a fight with the swingset and lost.
Apparently it had gone up, and missed her, and came back down, and got her.
After I calmed her down and she went back about her playing business, she came up to me for a hug and I noticed a POOL OF BLOOD on her noggin.
Being the super mom I am, I swallowed a scream and led her to the bathroom to clean her head and found a short but deep GASH at her crown.
Here's the silver lining (because you must always have one): my husband's uncle is a family practice doctor. And he lives next door to my mother-in-law. And he has keys to his clinic. And he is a fantastic uncle.
Jeremy took The Bunny, Pooter, and a nephew to see fireworks, because the rest of the family was already on their way. Also, I think maybe he wasn't ready to handle seeing his baby girl in such pain.
Men. Such weenies.
When we drove the half-mile to his office, Dr. Uncle told The Girl that what he was about to do would HURT, but then it would NOT hurt. He gave her a little lesson on telling the truth, and trust, and promised her that he would never lie to her and that she could trust him for-evah.
brave waiting LadybugThen.
Then. He pulled out this HUGE needle (with some kind of -caine to numb up her head) and instructed me to HOLD HER STILL. She screamed something awful, and these huge alligator tears rolled down her flushed cheeks. And then the horrible part was done.
When the somethingcaine worked it's magic, and Dr. Uncle started poking at her head, she said it tickled.
I was an idiot and (while trying to be a super mom and keep her calm and distract her) I kept asking her yes or no questions. Like, "You were so brave, weren't you?" and "Aren't you so glad we had your Baby with us?" and "Isn't Uncle Doctor doing a great job?" and every time I would ask, she'd nod or shake her head. And every time I'd freak out a little, what with the sewing up of my child's head and all.
I'm such a dope sometimes.
all stitched up
And then it really was over. Two perfect teensy stitches. Though, to me, two may as well have been twenty. She was super still, and really calm, and that made my tummy hurt even worse- that my sweet little almost-four-year-old girl was being so Big and Brave (-er than me.)
The worst part of the whole thing (other than, you know, the sewing on her scalp) was that after we were done, she fell to pieces over missing the big fireworks show. So what's a super mom to do?
I stopped at a gas station and bought her candy at 9:45 p.m.
So far, she's handled it like any tough girly-girl would. She's shown anyone willing to look, and she's requested that next time she get pink stitches instead of black.
The Girl and her aggressor
Today she went back and tackled her tormentor. There was not one iota of fear in that girl.
She makes me so proud.