Someone needs to tell me what's up with my kids and why they feel the need to drive me to the poor house with junk like this. First up: double broken leg for the Nub! Second act: split chin and 3 stitches for Triple. I assume we'll be trading doctor's visits like this for the next 16-18 years so pretty much get used to it, right? We need better insurance is all I know.
Blood and gore doesn't gross me out, I watched that giant head you see above barrel through my own lady bits on the day of his blessed birth if you need proof. Go ahead and conjure up that image, you're welcome! And really it was fine and he was fine until the doctor stabbed a huge numbing needle right into the middle of that gash and then did it again about 6 more times. Triple screamed and cried and I held him down and felt his sweaty little body shake and stiffen. My eyes filled with hot tears and I told him it was almost done and this was the worst part and that I wouldn't leave him. My boy is a stout little fellow, and as soon as that part was over and even with a blue sanitary sheet draped over his whole face, he stopped crying, gripped my hands, and held still while those stitches were being stitched. What a tough little babe.
I'm sure it's a scene we'll re-play many times knowing these boys of mine. The role of seasoned mother who thrives under pressure is one I'm learning to play. Stitches, broken bones and all, I know...I'm living the dream. This is right where I've always wanted to be so lucky, lucky me.