The other day I picked the boys up from school and noticed something about Griffin across the parkway (wish I could call it a quad, can I call it a quad? calling it a big ass sidewalk seems dumb).
Half his face was missing.
Now, okay, I get it: I'm a drama queen. Duly noted. But! Half of his face was missing. Which resulted me in yelling, in front of 500 bazillion young, impressionable minds, "Griffin! WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?"
"Happened to WHAT, Mom?"
"Oh, I fell."
"Yeah, I'm fine. Stop freaking out."
"Oh, I'm not freaking out."
"Yes, you are. Quit it."
"BUT! YOUR FACE!"
"I just got it dirty."
"No, you didn't. Did you see the nurse?"
"Yeah, she washed me up."
So, after a call to the doctor's office, a call to the school nurse, a call with the doctor and consulting a shoe salesman (much prettier than Al Bundy, I might add). I decided to take him to the ER for a possible concussion.
Dude, after what happened to Darwin I have become this overprotective mother hen who's all hyper-sensitive to head accidents. I know, I know, that was horrible, awful, unfortunate accident but it create some kind of crazed monster in me of protecting my baby's heads at all costs.
So, yes. I full intended to take Griffin to the ER because! He could have a hematoma! It could pinch off some special nerve and damage him! HE COULD DIE!
And I called Aaron. After all, he needs to know our son is going to die, right? Right.
Well, okay. So Aaron talked me off that ledge. Aaron's idea? Motrin. And a mirror. So Griffin could see I'm not a crazy lady. Then a grown-up drink for me to calm my shit down.
... he only scratched it on pavement.