FrankenSam

Last week was surely one of the most chaotic experiences of my parental life.  And that's saying a lot.

There were expensive shattered vases (bless the souls at Hobby Lobby for mercifully chalking a little foam sword play up to 'That just happens sometimes'), ear-splitting alarms set off from 'do not exit, alarm will sound' doors swinging wide in restaurants, and nameless other exasperations that ultimately culminated in our very first rush to the Emergency Room.

Well, it was Instacare, but heck, it's practically the same thing for a panicking mom holding a towel to her bleeding baby's head.  And, as my grandma always said, exaggeration always makes for a better story. ;)

Kicking off from his highchair landed Sam on the track of our sliding glass door and moments later (thanks to my amazing husband that- despite our usual set roles of Panicker and Calm One- took control the second I flipped out) got us all into the car and down the street to the doctor.

Sam was a trooper and didn't even cry, I on the other hand cannot say as much.

We were informed that he'd need a staple ( a STAPLE!) in for about a week to help the cut close up.
You can't staple my BABY! I wanted to yell.  He's not some experimental conglomeration of body parts from a science fiction novel!  But I'm a big girl and am not fond of dramatic scenes so I kept this opinion to myself.
When he pulled out a regular-looking staple gun and popped one into Sams head he barely flinched- I couldn't believe it!  We were done.  We loaded up, drove home and plopped ourselves into bed, exhausted from the week's events.


The next few days were spent keeping Reese away from 'inspecting' Sam's ouchie and playing doctor herself.  We decided not to tell her  the exact term for what the doctor used to close Sam's cut up.  She knows we have a stapler of our own and where it is.  We figure it will be safer for everyone in the long run if a few details are glazed over in the retelling.