Five Stitches: An Appropriate Follow-up to "Untitled"

I'll open this blog post up with a thanks to everyone who commented on- and off-line on "Untitled."  It's always nice to know that what you're feeling is 1. normal and 2. temporary.  The downside to writing about the minutiae of mommyhood is that Fate/Karma is sorely tempted to "help" you out by giving you a very non-typical day.

Monday started out like most any normal Monday.  Yes, he was up too early, but that only meant we got to cuddle with our respective blankies and enjoy an episode of "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse" as we tried to wake-up enough to attack the day.  Hamilton and I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and began getting ready for our music class.  Step 1: Take a shower.  Both Hamilton and I really love to shower...especially thanks to Uncle Travis' renovation to the master bathroom.  For time's sake (and to keep my ever mischeiveous boy close at hand), we often share some shower time.  I had just put conditioner in my hair when Hamilton started crying, and I looked down to see that he'd slipped.  I quickly picked him up and tried to comfort him with the usual "It's ok" and "Was that scary?" and "You're alright."  After a couple of these phrases, I noticed a stream of blood making its way down his shoulder.  "Where in the world is this coming from?!"  I put my hand on the back of his head and felt what still makes me shudder-a big, ugly gash.  Without thinking much, I turned off the shower, grabbed a towel for his head, and got out, thinking, "I've got to get him to the ER."  And then I realized that neither one of us could go anywhere until we got dressed.  How could I get dressed and still hold him?  Do I take care of him or me first?  I felt like the worst mom in the world lying him down on the towel while I pulled on clothes and ran to get his diaper.  In the midst of this, I managed to call Alex who, knowing this was a very atypical time to call, answered with, "What's wrong? Are you ok?"  I had every intention of sounding calm and not scaring him, but, of course, I really started crying but managed to say something articulate enough to let him know what happened and where we were going.

My tough little Hamilton had basically stopped crying by the time I got him in the car...and, thankfully, his head had stopped bleeding as well.  The only other time the hospital seemed so far away was when I was in labor.  I walked in, relieved to see an empty waiting room and a bunch of nurses sitting at the admit desk.  After telling them to expect a worried daddy, we went back to a room.  All the doctors, nurses, registration people were soooo nice, comforting, and clearly competent.  Alex arrived in time for the stitches, which required Hamilton's being velcro strapped into a "papoose"  with his head held still by a nurse.  Now for a kid that can barely stand the containment of holding hands in a parking lot, this was pure torture.  He cried so hard, he burst little vessels in his face and neck that now look like pink freckles.  Around this time, I started crying again myself (I had to this point been--outwardly--super tough at the ER).  And, in the midst of taking care of Hamilton, the doctor and nurses tried to make me feel better.  Five stitches later, Hamilton was freed and much, much happier, especially with promises of "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse" and donuts...both of which he enjoyed with Mommy and Daddy back at home as he acted his usual self (i.e. jumping around and making sure his daddy sat by him).

I hereby promise to be more appreciative of my monotonous mommy days.