On Why He May Never Want to See Another Doctor Ever Again

Ayden had an interesting couple of days last week. He had a surgical procedure last Friday (more on that in a minute). But, as if we weren't worked up enough about that, the little angel decided to take a flying leap off out couch, hitting his head on the coffee table in the process. The kid had blood dripping from his head, soaking his white t-shirt and leaving drops of blood all over the living room floor. He had a nasty gash on his head, which meant a trip to the ER for us.

I guess I should consider myself lucky in that, at four years old, this is the first time we've had to go to the ER with Ayden for something like this. Zoe was just under two years old when she somehow got a hold of a small bit of cotton and jammed it in her ear. Moments later she was bleeding from her ear because she was trying to dig it out. Ick, I'm getting nauseous just thinking about it.

So we get to the ER, where the doctor on duty determines that it's just a cut (no concussion or anything like that), so it's two staples on Ayden's scalp and away we go. He needs to keep the staples in for seven to ten days. Picture me trying to wash the kid's hair when all he can think about are the two staples protruding from his head. For the next seven to ten days, people. Again with the nausea.

Which brings us to Friday--two days after the couch jumping incident. Ayden had surgery to correct his "tongue-tie," which is at the point where--if not corrected--could eventually affect his speech (we were already starting to see signs of that). The surgery is known as a frenoplasty; given the fact that my son's tongue tie was rather pronounced, it was necessary for the doctor to put two stitches on the underside of my son's tongue after cutting it. Okay, seriously, I'm turning green over here.

Needless to say, once the little guy woke up from the anesthesia and the drugs started to wear off...he was not happy. Fear not, it was nothing some Tylenol and an unlimited supply of ice pops couldn't fix. He's feeling much better, but he still doesn't want to stick his tongue out. Well, at least the kid's got good manners.

Givin' Me the Finger

My instinct was to call this post "Mama went to Naples and All I Got Was This Gnarly Finger," but that's a mouthful. Besides, messages like that are best saved for souvenir t-shirts. Flamenco Dad warned me against posting a photo of my finger on my blog for two reasons. One, my finger looks icky. Two, this is supposed to be a food blog, and looking at this thing wouldn't make anyone want to eat anything. I then had a flashback to one of my dormmates in college who, while she was learning to rollerblade, would sit there are proudly show us each and every one of the scabs she got from her various rollerblading injuries. Even while we were eating in the dining hall. Seriously.

Long story short, I was helping my mom with one of the sliding doors which apparently could not close properly. We figured something was blocking either the track or the lock. While I was examining the lock to see if there was anything obstructing it, my mom used all her might to slam the door shut--not realizing that my index finger was in the way. So you see, my finger then became said obstruction. I screamed something that I have never in all my 34 years said in front of my mother in front of her, my kids, and my GRANDMA! Oh the horror! Thankfully, miraculously, my finger is not broken(though it does still hurt). My fingernail is purple/black in color, and it would appear that my fingernail is not long for this world. On the bright side, next time I paint my nails it looks like I'll only have to paint nine instead of ten.

Happy Birthday My ***

Well, I promised myself that nothing would get in my way of posting every day during the month of November. That was, at least, until yesterday--when I was struck down by a stomach illness so severe, I likened the pain to the middle stages of active labor. Oh yeah, that's right--I said it. It was that bad. My mind remembered my Lamaze breathing, and it helped me yesterday. But only so much.

My dear hubby prepared for me what we not-so-lovingly refer to around here as a "dirt shake". It's a drink prepared using a powdered herb and husk mixture that we buy from an herb company that sells supplements from the Amazon. This shake is nasty; I'll spare you the details of how gross it is. The good news is that it helped settle my stomach long enough that I was actually able to get some sleep.

I still don't know where this virus came from---everyone else here seems healthy. It's possible that one of our party guests was ill and left me one heck of a party gift. It could just be that after all the hard work over the last week, my body finally cried, "Uncle!" I'm just hoping the worst is over.