Friday night I was on my way to pick up our babysitter so that Tom and I might go out on a long awaited date, after two months without. There I am turning into her neighborhood when my phone rings.
Me: Hello?
Tom: Hey, have you gotten the babysitter yet?
Me: Almost there, why?
Tom: Well, you might want to turn around and come home instead.
My stomach drops with dread.
Tom: Caleb hit Collin on the head with my plastic souvenir cup. I think he's going to need stitches.
Me: Fine. I'll be right there (complete irritation).
So I speed home, not worried about Collin's head, not worried about going to the ER, or anything that a normal mother should be worried about.
Instead I accelerated home fuming my wrath towards Caleb. "Of course he has ruined our date night, my evil baby!" The words screaming in my head.
After coming to terms with the evening I was able to push my selfish thoughts aside, hug on Collin, discipline Caleb and hug on him, and figure out with Tom how to fix the situation.
Tom wanted to bypass the ER and stitch Collin up himself, but after calling around to fellow residents he still didn't have enough sterile equipment to do the job.
So the next bright idea was to glue the gash closed and tape it up.
So far it's working great.
And if it's a horrible scar on his head, at least he's not a girl.
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