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Saturday, February 18, 2012

She came in wailing, "bloody bloody bloody bloody!" She was a little hysterical.

Smatterings of blood were all over her shirt, her pants, her hair, her face.

What in the world?

She had taken a fork - thank the Lord, just a fork- and attempted to slice open an orange all by her 4-year-old self. In the process, she had stabbed her finger.

Then she ran back to put the fork back into the utensil drawer, freaking out and shaking her hand the whole way from the living room to the kitchen. There were tiny drops of blood everywhere. On the T V, on the fireplace, on the refrigerator, on the kitchen floor, on the carpet on the way to my room. This all happened in the span of four or five minutes.

So we got a popsicle, cleaned the puncture, put a bandaid on it, wrapped it in surgical tape, and finished it off with a Phineas and Ferb bandaid for decoration.

No more cutting oranges with forks around here. This means you, Rebecca Sky.


Farm Girl said...

Oh, poor baby. You just scared me to death. I thought it was about you. Now that my heart is beating normally. :)
I am glad it was a fork too.

Meg said...

Oh sweet goodness. They do a good job of making us jump, don't they? I'm so glad it was only a fork!


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