The other morning Ezra woke up earlier than usual, and earlier than me. I could hear him over the baby monitor, and since he was happy and not making too loud of noises that he'd wake Wyatt up, I decided to jump in the shower. If I don't shower before I let him out of his room (it sounds cruel, but it's for his own good) I don't get to until they nap. So, I got in the shower, skipped shaving my legs and hurried out. I guess I didn't hurry enough. He was playing with some of the toys in his closet, and apparently pinched his hand in the door. Yeah, I felt like a great mom. Again. He was VERY upset. He cried, and cried, and cried, and cried, and cried, and cried, and cried. For and hour and a half. I wanted to cry. He wouldn't let me touch it to put anything on it, and wouldn't stop screaming. It was just the skin that got pinched, so I knew nothing was broken, but Lord I'd have liked to cut his little hand off to make that particular pain stop. He wouldn't even use his hand to eat. For those of you who've spent much time around him, that's saying something. The kicker is that the day before, he poked his thumb on the other hand, so they both were out of service.
He walked around with this look on his face, holding both hands like this for THREE DAYS. Dramatic much???? I think so.
No comments:
Post a Comment