Sloan is a hazard to himself. Perhaps it is a form of middle child syndrome; a way of getting attention that is exclusively his.
The other morning, as I announced that I would be overseeing the dressing of all pajama-clad and/or naked boys in three minutes time, Sloan decided that he was in need of such one-on-one time. He proceeded, in true boy fashion, to take a flying leap over a kitchen chair and my traumatic morning commenced.
I always knew that Sloan would be my first set of stitches, and I was certain that his time had come.
You see, when his face hit the floor on the other side of the chair, he bit his lip. This isn't the first time he's done this. It was, however, the first time he had done this:
Yeah. That's right. The blood on the underside of his bottom lip is the EXIT wound.
After a frantic call (or six) to Daddy and a few rude text messages, I was able to contact Daddy who, after receiving two blurry camera-phone pictures via text, decided that it wasn't serious enough for Urgent Care and/or stitches to be necessary.
Surely, he underestimated the situation. My baby had a HOLE through his lip. I guess I should have seized the moment and put a toilet-paper tube in it to save him time and pain during his angst-ridden youth. Ah, well, I'm sure he'll do it again...
I spent the next 30 minutes pouring over Sloan, deciding whether or not my motherly instincts warranted an overruling.
Of course, while the cat's away, the mice will...
... see that the pantry door is ajar and lay hold upon the only saliva-soluble packaging within reach. (Notice the floor and the used-to-be white jammies. Still working on returning both to their original luster.)
In the end, Sloan refused to go to the doctor and screamed for Daddy all morning. I guess that's reasonable since Daddy isn't the mean one who forced you to eat your weight in popsicles in an effort to combat the swelling of your already large, Gailey-bred, bottom lip.
Sorry Pal, maybe next time you should wait to do something like this until you are on Daddy's watch.