What Goes Up Must Come Down

And sometimes that involves hitting numerous pieces of furniture along the way.

Well, it finally happened - WeeBee's insistence on living life on the edge landed him in the E.R.  Considering how much of my day is spent dragging him off chairs, counters, and other not so inanimate objects that he shouldn't be surfing on, I guess it was only a matter of time before he did some actual damage.

One minute he was throwing a hissy fit because I would only let him eat four crackers right before dinner, and the next he had either lost his balance or thrown himself backwards and was on the floor.  On the way down he hit the table and the chair next to him, neither of which had particularly sharp edges.  He jumped up right away, shaking his head and screaming bloody murder.  I picked him up and was rocking him back and forth when I realized there actually was blood running down my hand...and all over the lower back of his head.

Thankfully Daddy was home.  He was able to clean WeeBee up a bit while I pinned his arms down - at least to the point where we could see where the blood was actually coming from.  There was a nice 1/2 inch gash to the back of his head.  It was still sort of difficult to see how deep it was (curly blood matted hair and thrashing toddler don't exactly lend themselves to precise measurements) so we decided not to risk it and headed over to the E.R.

We were in and out of there in 3 hours, which really wasn't bad considering how many football and soccer players were sitting around us with broken arms and legs in the waiting room.  Apparently it was a pretty bad night for sports on the Jersey Shore.  WeeBee alternated between talking to the fish in the giant fish tank, and climbing on chairs.  (Clearly he learned nothing from his adventure.)  In the end, he needed 2 staples to close the gash.  The worst part of the day was hearing him cry "I'm sorry Mommy!  I'm sorry Mommy!" while I pinned him down on the table.  I couldn't see his face, but I knew he had that, "Why are you letting them do this to me?" look.

Afterwards, covered in blood and toddler snots, we hit the McDonald's drive-thru and got ice cream, which WeeBee proceeded to get all over himself and his car seat.  By the time we got home, we looked like extras in a low budget horror movie.

His first words when we got in the house?  "Mommy, can I have a cracker?"