I joke about my little Robin’s hypersensitivity, but it turns out he’s really quite brave in the face of actual carnage. Last night he pulled up on the coffee table, which I have begun to pad the edges of but have not quite finished, and – you see where this is going, right? – down he went! Bonking his face and cutting the inside of his top lip.
He yelled for about a minute, then got bored with that and wanted to play some more. But the blood, it continued to flow. So there’s my happy little boy, crawling around and blowing raspberries and smooshing his hands over his face just like always only now with more blood! and it looked like our living room had been the scene of some terrible crime that would rivet you to your evening news because OH MY GOD THE BLOOD. It stopped bleeding after a little while and a lot of gauze pads, and then he stuck his hand in his mouth and went waba-waba-waba and OH THE BLOOD.
We were planning to go to the grocery store, but I thought that it was maybe not such a good idea to take a grinning, blood-spattered child out in public. What’s that, Officer? No, we are the best parents ever, why do you ask? Hey! Where are you taking that baby?
We ruined two onesies (I stopped changing him after the first time he reopened the wound) and one of my favorite t-shirts. An ice cube stopped the bleeding in the end, though it did start again when he nursed to sleep, which I thought was kind of funny because it looked like the baby was eating my boob. Okay, maybe that’s not really funny so much as horrific, but it’s a little funny too, right? Right?
He’s fine. But I need to wash the floor before anyone comes over.