Brady's Boo-Boo

Well, it finally happened. I knew it would--he's a rambunctious, spirited child after all--it was only a matter of time until we ended up rushing to an urgent care center, covered in blood. I just thought he might make it a bit longer. But alas, it was not to be.

Last night, poor Brady learned the very hard way not to run in the house. It happened as follows.

Yorkies LOVE table scraps. They love all food, but especially that which they should not eat. Particularly male Yorkies. Bradley has been obsessed with Brady since Brady started eating (and throwing) solid foods when he was 6 months old. Anywhere Brady goes, Bradley is not far behind hoping for a scrap to fall. Last night, such was the situation when Brady finally decided he had had ENOUGH of the dog taking his food. Off he ran down the foyer hallway after poor little old Brad and THUD!! He ran and fell smack into the sharp corner where the walls meet. Jason (who was holding the baby and saw the whole thing) began screaming, and I ran from (slaving over) the hot stove to find my baby boy on the floor in the hall with blood spurting out of his forehead. Having no towel near me to stop it, I instinctively ripped off my shirt and pressed it on his forehead trying to calm him. It was QUITE a scene, mind you. When we finally got the flow slowed enough for a bandage, on went another shirt and off we zipped to urgent care.

They stitched his forehead up, but not without much fuss on his part. My poor sweet boy had no idea why he was being held down with needles shoved into his already-throbbing head! The good news is that when we emerged from the urgent care center, he was feeling much better (a happy meal helped). We had prepared ourselves for a rough night with him and instead he slept like a baby while the actual baby ("Little Miss" as I call her) decided to keep us up all night with her (very loud) crying. Not sure what's going on there, but it seems there are never two happy children at one time in our house anymore!

These are the days (or so I hear)....

The not-as-innocent-as-he-looks culprit.

The damage.

Like his mother before him, Brady has a forehead hard enough to dent walls.

The joy of urgent care.

Which is actually not so joyful (but not nearly as lacking in joy as an ER would've been).

The (brilliant) doctor had tootsie pops. Brady is apparently a biter, not a licker.

The aftermath. Nothing a funny band-aid and a happy meal can't cure, thank goodness!

So, we get to take care of stitches for 5 days followed by what is sure to be a nasty scar in the center of my baby's perfect forehead for long after that.

I'm tired.

Happy Thursday!