Preschooler D was running with a wooden Thomas the Train conductor-guy in his mouth yesterday and — you see where this is going — Boom! He tripped, and wooden conductor-guy ripped a 1/4 in hole in the back of D’s mouth. Try not to think too hard about this. It was not pretty a pretty sight. Blood, gore, upset parents, screaming child . . .
D managed to calm down before Big Daddy and I did. I took him to the clinic — um, D, I mean, not Big Daddy. Nurse Practitioner Beth took a good look and said it was pretty bad. He could have stitches, but she didn’t think it was worth the trauma. She told D he could not eat chips but would be ready for Halloween candy by Sunday.
On a side note, I love NP Beth. I took a very sickly Colin into see her one time and he fell asleep on the exam table in the few minutes we had to wait. She came in and whispered, “Well, that not very like Colin. He’ll be better in 48 hours or bring him back.” It was almost 48 hours to the minute, but it turned around that day.
So, anyway, D was pretty quiet yesterday. He watched a lot of TV and went to bed without much fuss. We thought it would be a long night, but it wasn’t too bad. This morning, though, he wanted Doritos and then he wanted Oreos and then he wanted cracker sticks. No matter how sweetly I try to sell the yogurt, he wants what he cannot have.
Isn’t that life?