Yesterday afternoon, C.J. was outside BBQing some steaks on his new BBQ he and the boys had picked up yesterday morning. I was inside cooking the rest of dinner and the boys were happily playing outside. All of the sudden, I heard a whole bunch of screaming and looked out the door to see Silas running towards me holding his mouth and nose. Blood was gushing everywhere. I pulled his hand away from his mouth to assess the damage only to discover that his lip had completely split open, all the way up to his nose! Apparently, the boys had been having a light saber battle when the handle of Owen's light saber flew off and hit Silas in the face. We took one look at the wound and immediately loaded up for the hospital. Baby got woken from his nap, steaks got left on the grill, quinoa and brussel sprouts left half way done. Fortunately, we did remember to turn of all cooking devices. And I can not even begin to tell you how incredibly brave Silas was. Once we got in the car he had stopped crying and just wanted me to snuggle him on the way to the ER. As we were driving there he asked me, "Am I going to die?" It was all I could do to not fall apart! Obviously he was scared, but he has holding it together SO well. The whole time we were at the hospital and he was getting stitched up, he didn't cry one bit. Seriously, my heart was bursting with pride for my brave little four year old. My heart was also aching for poor little Owen. He felt so incredibly bad. I tried to reassure him that it was not his fault and that accidents happen, but I'm not sure he was convinced. He was so shaken up! After we left the hospital, we made a stop by Target and let Silas pick out any toy he wanted. I know, what a good lesson to teach your kids: When life gets tough, buy something! But seriously, a Mama and Daddy have to do SOMETHING to reward their boy for his bravery and to get his mind off of the torture he had to endure. And now as I write this, the boys are upstairs in Silas' room with Daddy happily putting together the Lego set Silas chose. I was up there a minute ago to change his bandage and take a picture of his wound when he randomly said, "It's ok, Owen. It doesn't really hurt THAT bad." Could the boy be any sweeter? Also, I took a few pictures of what was left of the blood just to document it. Most of it had been cleaned up already, but there is still a trail left on our back deck. I'm sure the wound will heal up just fine, but the doctor said it's going to leave quite a scar. I guess it will just add character to my boy's beautiful little freckled face!
***I'm pretty sure that when I first saw the wound I said something along the lines of, "Ceej! We need to take him to the hospital!!! Or should we call 9-1-1??" To which my husband calmly replied, "He'll be OK. We just need to take him to get some stitches." You know. Sometimes a Mama is afraid her baby is going to bleed to death from a cut lip! Let's be honest. I sure am thankful for my husband's level head. Or I would likely be paying the bill for an incredibly expensive and really unnecessary ambulance ride! I would like to blame my slight overreaction on post-partum hormones and sleep deprivation, but I'm afraid we had similar reactions when I stabbed my hand getting the pit out of an avocado last fall. To my credit, Silas' lip was bleeding A LOT and my brain was scrambling trying to figure out how to put a tourniquet on a face!
2 comments:
poor little guy, he still looks pretty darn cute though.
Gotta say, Silas, I knew you were a tough kid. Way to go! And if you have a little scar, don't worry. You can tell the story for years. Just the other day, I showed off a scar from stitches I had on my arm (got bit by Uncle Don's dog when I was about Owen's age). I've got marks on my forehead (coat caught while jumping from deck; landed on rock below – Grandma loved coming home to a trail of blood on Christmas Eve or thereabouts, Grandpa having taken me to the hospital), lower leg (foolishly riding on the handlebars of a bike with my cousin driving - yep, we crashed), upper arm (Superman didn't clear the barbed wire fence), and just below my eye (usually, I say that was earned in a knife fight on a clandestine mission in some foreign land - reality is a trundle bed popped out when I was moving into my place a few years ago). They're the marks of life, and they give you character! Sending a hug from halfway across the world, buddy. Uncle Ryke
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