A Saturday to Remember

This past weekend — specifically, this past Saturday — was a rough one.

I mean, ROUGH.

I went to bed way too late (or perhaps it was way too early) — 2am, after finally finishing this year’s taxes.  So when I woke up a little over five hours later to tend to the little guy, I felt like the walking dead.

Perhaps that was why, after he started his nap, I crashed too.  And, unfortunately, I woke up well after he woke up.  So when Mommy wasn’t there to change his poopy diaper, guess what Daniel did?

I will not go into the gratuitous details because it is much too disgusting to even consider.  Let’s just say that I had to remind him that “Poo-Doh” is not “Play-Doh”.

So, over two hours later (washing and cleaning the kid, washing and cleaning the sheets/stuffed animals/pillows/foam play mat), I felt that this was likely the worst Saturday in Toddlerhood that I’ve experienced so far.

Au contraire — there’s more!  But here’s a little intermission before the second act starts:

Post "Poo-Doh" Incident, Looking at Faceball 2000

After an uneventful dinner, I was washing dishes when Daniel came into the livingroom, crying.  The Hubby saw him first and so got to see his much-lacerated middle finger on his left hand.  (As it turns out, he stuck his finger in the fan — which was on, airing out his post-poop room).

Thank God the emergency room at Las Colinas Medical Center (where Daniel was born and, therefore, his medical file was) was only fifteen minutes away.  Daniel cried when he initially got hurt, but he calmed down during the car ride (as the Hubby held him and applied firm and steady pressure to his paper-towel wrapped finger) and all through the initial check-in and examination.

It was only when the med tech stitched up his finger (just one stitch, thank goodness!) that he cried again — understandably!  But, amazingly, he calmed down again once it was over, and he was just fascinated with the exam room table he was on (which had pneumatic lifters which the Hubby played around with to distract Daniel).

During the check-out — where I filled out paperwork and paid the $100 emergency room copay (yay, health insurance) — Daniel was talking to himself and wanting to explore.  In fact, with one stitched and well-bandaged finger, Daniel’s been his usual happy self — even as we have been washing and re-dressing his finger every 24 hours to prevent infection.  The stitch comes out after seven days.

To say the least, this has been a Saturday to remember!

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