Thursday, December 10, 2009
Just look at his little cherubic face. My happy-go-lucky little guy. Perched up on the kitchen counter sporting his new winter hat. Sweet little fella.
No, he did not plummet from the counter. That is not the reason I have dubbed myself "Worst Mother Ever".
Nor did I sit by idly as he wrapped the braided strings of his cap around his neck.
Yesterday was one of those days. Time after time one of the kids would holler out tattling about some injustice that had befallen them as a result of one of their siblings' behavior. Suffice it to say, it got to the point where I kind of tuned out these little outbursts.
At one point, I vaguely remember Tate crying and saying something about his foot. But in my defense, he didn't cry for more than about 30 seconds, so I figured it had been worked out.
Later on in the evening it was time for he and I to go pick up the girls from choir practice. I hoisted his little hiney up on the kitchen counter to put his socks on. (For some reason, the socks I bought him are about 3 sizes too small. I think they were mismarked or something. They fit fine once his little foot gets shoved into them, but there is no way he is able to maneuver them on by himself. He did sweetly ask if he could have some new socks for Christmas. Which of course, melted my little heart and I will be getting him some this weekend.)
I grabbed his little foot to force the sock on it and this is what I discovered...
I gasped! My baby had a bloody foot! And I had ignored his cry of pain altogether.
I inspected it further. My brain searched for another explanation. My guilt began to wane. Of course! He and I shared a pizza for supper. In my panic mode, I didn't stop to think it could be pizza sauce!
Whew! What a terrible mother I almost turned out to be.
I grabbed a wet paper towel and began to wash it off. Only it didn't come off that easily. Because my first inclination was correct. His little foot was caked with dried blood!!
My terrible mother status was confirmed.
After I cleaned it all up, I searched for the gaping wound, but found none. His pinky toe was quite crooked, however, which led me to believe maybe he had broken it. I compared it with his other pinky toe, which looked identical. Then I felt like an even worse mother for not knowing my son well enough to know he has crooked pinky toes!
Back to the injury in question, his pinky toe nail bed is so tiny, I could barely even tell if he has a toenail on that toe. Piecing together his story, and the girls' story, we believe a door got closed on his foot which probably did take off some of the microscopic nail.
He beamed up at me brightly after I got him all cleaned up, which made me feel even worse.
I love that little guy, and his crooked little piggies.
Posted by Kristen at 11:06 AM