First of all, I have to say that word ("stitch") just does not look right. All those consonants and only one vowel??? It's almost as bad as the street I used to live on... "Kerckhoff". Anyway...
(Oh... and you might not want to read this if your stomach was already turning when you read the title up there... because this post IS NOT about quilting!)
Yesterday was one of those days mothers all around the world fear. The kids were in the front yard playing when I heard a thud followed by a cry that got louder with each wail accompanied by a sister yelling "Mom! Toby's really hurt! He's REALLY HURT!" Well, I could tell that much by the wailing. And by the blood. On Toby's chin, hands, shirt, legs, the sidewalk... So of course, the first matter of business... Where is it coming from????? Other than a minor scrape on his knee, it was all coming from the underside of his chin. Thankfully, no teeth were involved. He fell and his chin landed on the scalloped brick edging between our driveway and the flowerbed. And I was sure, at that first moment, that he was going to need stitches because it looked bad.
You might be asking yourself a few questions right now... "Why in the world is Melissa torturing me by writing about this?" or perhaps, "Why in the world am I reading this???" And to tell you the honest truth, I don't really have a good answer for you. Sorry. It's just the most dramatic thing that's happened around here in quite a while I guess.
Well, after holding a washcloth on his chin for a few minutes while I called Lowell (who had no vehicle b/c he'd taken our van to get worked on) and my mom (who rescued us by coming right over from her school) Toby mostly calmed down, got cleaned up and the bleeding surprisingly stopped. My mom and I started wondering if he really needed stitches after all. Maybe a butterfly bandage would be enough. And let me tell you... I really could not stand the idea of him getting stitches if not really needed. The idea alone just freaks me out. But I had called the Dr's office and they thought I should bring him in so they could look at it and decide. And I agonized over what to do. Decision making is really not ever my strength.
Here's where I got really brave. I decided I didn't have to do what they said!!! It took a bit of waiting and talking to Lowell and my mom and Jesus, but I decided the bandage we'd done was probably enough and if he had a scar on the bottom of his chin, so what? I think he'd rather have a scar than stitches. Funny thing is I felt like I was being brave (dealing with it ourselves, rebelling against the nurse's orders) and scared (of the stitches) all at the same time. I will be so, so glad when he's totally better and I don't have to fret about it anymore.
But in the meantime, I'm getting an idea what he might look like someday with a goatee. Mighty handsome, I'd say. (Assuming the scar doesn't get in the way.) J