Over the course of today, I managed to traumatize my child multiple times. Mother of the year? Not me.
At lunch, I spilled my entire drink on him (he was crawling at my feet, having just finished his meal, while I was finishing mine). He was none too happy about being suddenly wet and sticky, and while still wearing his clothes, but a quick whisk into the tub for a clean-up dried those tears.
Not more than an hour later, his fingers got caught in the door as I was trying to close it. I quickly scooped him up for a snuggle, but it took quite some coaxing to get him calmed down again. Once he stopped screaming, he settled in with his blankie and napped for a bit. I noticed a rather swollen finger when he woke, called the pediatrician, and got him right in to be seen. Unsure of exactly how much damage may have been done, she ordered an X-ray of his hand.
Being 13 months old, he needed someone to hold him still. Being 27 weeks pregnant, I was not eligible for the job. Being at PT and unreachable, Husby was unable to come to our rescue. Enter sweet female sergeant willing to cuddle my screaming child and attempt to keep him from moving while a picture is taken of his now-purple finger. It was so very sweet of her to volunteer, but I think both she and RJ were a little worse for wear afterwards. We're still waiting to hear how the films came out, but no news is good news in the situation.
Finally home from the clinic, it was time for dinner, bath, and bed. But my poor little man just couldn't catch a break! On his way out of the tub, he slipped, bumped his chin, and bit his tongue. Sad and tired, it didn't take much to get him to sleep tonight; hopefully he'll wake up tomorrow thinking that today was just a bad dream.