My son bashed his head today. Worst. Moment. Lately.
He had just gotten up from his nap, and I had just changed his diaper. So my half naked almost-but-not-quite-two year old son climbs up on the couch. And decides to practice his gymnastics routine.
And all the mothers in the audience know where this is going, am I right?
Yeah. Head? Meet Coffee Table. The corner literally gouged my baby’s scalp.
Know what’s worse? I didn’t notice.
I picked him up. I gave his hug and a snuggle, and sent him on his way. I glance at him as he tears ass through the house, past me, headed for who knows where. And I think to myself, “How did Truck get jelly in his hair?….wait, I didn’t give him anything red….oh. shit.”
So, I bribed my child with chocolate milk to get him to sit still long enough to get the bleeding to stop.
It stopped eventually. No concussion. Just tremendous amounts of guilt.
He’s quite proud of his owie though. He keeps patting his head, saying “Ow!” and grinning.
Such a strange little child. But I guess that’s how I know he’s mine.
Slightly Similar Nonsense:
- Full Beds at Midnight
- Conversations with a 4 year old
- Master of Non-Verbal Communication
- “I’m going to do that, AGAIN!”
- “Lizzy Stole My Sammich!”