HOLY FUDGE CAKES! WHAT HAVE I DONE?!?! This morning started out just like any other. Munchie was in high spirits and having a delightful day. He had just finished a bottle and his eyes were starting to get heavy. Time to trim a couple fingernails that were starting to become vicious scratching claws of doom.
I don’t know what happened… perhaps he began to wake up, or maybe the lighting was too dim. I went to snip that first tiny little nail and FLINCH!!! Munchie yanked his little arm away from me, with a look of panic in his eyes, opened his mouth, and let out a blood curdling scream. My heart sank, my breathing stopped, I’m sure a look of horror was plastered across my face. I looked down at Munchie’s itty bitty finger to see a drop of crimson, right there on the tip. OH THE HUMANITY!!!
At one point, I was a fully trained professional rescuer. I knew what to do if intestines were hanging out of someone’s abdomen. I was able to assist someone with a screwdriver lodged in their eyeball. I had been equipped with the knowledge of how to appropriately resurface a drowning victim with suspected spinal damage. But an 11 week old baby who was bleeding from his fingertip? I did what any level headed mother would do. I proceeded to do three of the most helpful things I could think of. 1. Hyperventilate. 2. Cry. 3. Jump around, while flailing my arms.
After about five of the longest seconds of my life, I swaddled Munchie up in his blanket and swooped him into my arms. We bounced around, crying together. I must have apologized to him a thousand times. We bounced downstairs for some ice. He just screamed louder. We bounced upstairs to the medicine cabinet and I grabbed peroxide and a cotton ball. (I thought to myself… clean the wound you fool!) I dabbed his little finger and blew on it. He was tolerant, but not happy. We bounced back downstairs and Munchie started to fall asleep. A few minutes later, Daddy (our hero) got home from work and came to our rescue. He held our little guy while I wrapped his finger with two tiny bandages. We calmed down… and all was well.
Later in the day, we went to visit Munchie’s grandparents. Mid-visit, I realized his bandaids were missing. We looked everywhere… but didn’t find them. I am really hoping a dog ate them… because if a dog didn’t eat them… then I think Munchie might have eaten his bandaids. If he did, I’m sure they will show up sooner or later. Ugh… I just can’t win.by