My house is certainly no different.
Last Tuesday, Bryce decided that he needed to split the end of a stick so that it would be an arrow and decided to use my good kitchen knife to do it. Of course he cut himself. Good. It required a trip to the emergency room. I loaded up all three of my kids plus my neighbors baby who I was babysitting and drove the ten minutes to the hospital. And then waited 45 minutes just to get into triage.
Forty-five minutes. For triage. It was a really good thing he didn't cut the entire finger off.
The nurse then sent us back into the waiting room with the information that the doctors were changing shifts and they would be with us shortly. Shortly was another 15 minutes of waiting. About the time we finally got into a cubby to be seen, my neighbor showed up to pick up her son and stuck around while mine got stitched. Once we got back into the cubby, the waiting time was practically nil. They swooped in, stitched him up and sent him on his way.
Bryce has had stitches once before, when he was about 18 months but Brady has never been around anything like it. So he watched in awe as they gave Bryce the shot to numb the finger. Then, as the practitioner stuck the needle in with the first stitch, Brady just let out this big long "Whhhoooooaaaaaaa!"A proud point in my parenting, let me tell ya.
My neighbor is laughing hard by this point, the nurse is trying not to react and I'm telling him "you're gonna think "whoa" if you do anything that requires stitches any time soon!" Brady kept trying to move up next to the nurse to get a closer look and I kept having to put him back at the end of the cot so she would have room to work. He was just amazed by everything going on. Even with the idea that iodine on the floor must be blood because it looked like it to him. Almost two hours after walking into the e.r., we finally got to leave, all kids back in tact but it will be a night that will be hard to forget.
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