The beautiful thing about parenthood is that sometimes you learn from your mistakes. Sometimes.
For example, last March, Bubba-Love threw himself into a wall and after a useless visit to a local doctor, he got several staples in his head at the emergency room. This was a good thing to remember on Friday night when he did the same thing. So we skipped the useless wait at the doctor and Hubster took him straight to the hospital where this time, the little guy got got 3 stitches and a plastic airplane from the anesthesiologist. After having just been there with The Princess in May for 4 stitches, I'm hoping we haven't made some sort of "list." Nothing like being the foreign family in town when trying to remain a little on the incognito side.
The only person who seems to really suffer from these accidents is Mini-Husband. The poor kid can't understand why he didn't get a plastic airplane too and how come The Princess got a milkshake after nearly having her ear taken off. Needless to say, Hubster and I have been trying to remind him why his siblings have been going to the emergency room and just how much fun pain is.
I'm not sure we are succeeding.
For his part, Mini-Husband has been dwelling on the little scar he has on his head, one he got when I dropped him during a spectacular trantrum years ago. He's decided that when mommy dropped him on his head in the bathroom, he should have had stitches and therefore a plastic airplane. And not only should he have stitches and a plastic airplane, but that mommy needs to relive this horrible event ALL WEEKEND LONG to remind herself that she could have killed him or damaged him forever when she dropped him.
The Catholic guilt I had first time around is nothing compared to what I got going on now. The only upside of this is that at least I know what he'll be discussing in therapy a few years from now.
And the lesson learned this time around? It might just be best to keep those stories of when mommy nearly killed you to herself. Hence, why I won't be telling Bubba-Love about the time I left the razor in the bathtub nor telling The Princess about the time I tried to pick her up in the car seat when I hadn't strapped her in.
Ah, yes. A lifetime of guilt in four beautiful smiling faces. Parenthood. Isn't it fabulous?