Andy's cousin and his wife (our friends) had their first child this past Thursday, a beautiful 10 lb, 3 oz (oy) 21 1/2 inch baby boy. So I'm dedicating this edition of What to Really Expect to the new parents, Tim and Katie.
Last Tuesday, HRH was playing some sort of spy game with the neighborhood kids and was crouching under a bush keeping look out. It is at this point that our six-year-old neighbor, exhibited a slight issue with impulse control by dropping a rock on HRH's head. HRH emerged screaming from the bushes where he was met by the mommies and the daddy of the rock-dropper. The result was an inch or so gash above his left ear that my nurse practitioner neighbor determined did need stapling. (The laceration is in nearly the same spot as the one he got two years ago running in socks in the kitchen.)
Another neighbor yelled "I've got Gremlin. See you in a while!" over her shoulder as she headed to round up the rest of the kids. The daddy was last seen striding purposely home, rock-dropper in tow. I ran into the house, grabbed a dish towel and my bag, trundled HRH into the car, and headed off to the hospital. On the way I placed my third call in two years to Andy, instructing him to meet us in the Emergency Room.
For the next three hours, we compared notes with at least four other families who also entered the ER with dish towels attached to the sides of their childrens' heads. And one frustrated mom whose child appeared to be in fine health with no visible wounds. Turns out her two-year-old had shoved his dinner so far up his nose that they were unable to retrieve it (this time - apparently, this is not a one-time occurrence) and were instructed by the pediatrician to head to the hospital. No, I didn't ask what type of food was up there. Yes, I'm curious, too.
Once again, the state has not removed our children from our custody. Once again, all questions regarding "the incident" were directed to HRH. We engaged in a long conversation about impulses and the importance of controlling the more negative ones. There was a tearful apology from the mother of the rock-thrower. There was a sincere-ish apology from the rock thrower, himself, who spent a lot of time in punishment. And a sincere-ish acceptance of apology from the throw-ee. Followed by "Hey! Wanna see my staples?".
Staple-removal is today at 1500 hours. Wish us luck.
I can't help but think that all through this adventure, I didn't panic, I didn't get upset, squeamish, angry, or lightheaded. I have boys. This is what happens. It's done. Until the next time.
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