Wednesday, March 21, 2012

This will hurt you a lot more than it will hurt me

After last week's drama-filled evening of stitches and tears and pleas for mercy from shots, it was finally time to have Alexander's stitches removed. I don't know how I could have missed it since he has spent the entire week very loudly counting down the days to when he didn't have to go to school with that splint on his hand, which is now all dirty and gross.

Alexander: "Finally 7 days! Can we get the stitches out? Can we? Please???"
Me: "Yep, and I'm gonna do it."
Alexander: "YOU'RE gonna do it???"
Me: "I am, it'll be fine."
Clifford (as he's passing through the kitchen): "Snitches get stitches."
Me: "Thanks for the reminder."

And thanks to my mother, the nurse, I have been well educated in stitch removal, as well as how to treat several general (and not so general) wounds and ailments. I know a lot about which medications are good for what issue, maybe a little too much, to the point some of my friends are convinced I could possibly be a drug addict.
Wine addict, maybe. But I digress.

Fast forward to Alexander's anxious meltdown in the bathroom 45 minutes later. He thought he would lose his entire hand because I was hovering over him with tweezers and teeny tiny scissors to get at those stitches.

Several moments, a few gasps and a little bit of unnecessary drama later, they were out. I made Alexander watch the whole time in an effort to toughen him up a bit, and I totally plan to use this little experience as leverage when he boo-hoos about the 3 budding cavities he has to have filled in that mouth of his.
That's in May. I can't wait.

In the mean time we're stitch free (for the time being). Let's hope broken bones aren't next on the list.


Looks like I have a pest problem (other than the kids)

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