Or, Life with Brutus Maximus
One more gaping head wound on my firstborn. Third time's a charm, buddy. Next time you're getting a helmet.
It happened at the YMCA today (so not on my watch) and I didn't see the plundering. I mostly just got lots of wailing, crying and bodily fluid. When he talked about it with his dad tonight it went something like this:
"I was playing outside, and then I came inside and I turned left, and then I turned right, and then I hit the table. They shouldn't have that table right there. I think they should move it."
Do you think this kid's getting a little accustomed to filling out incident reports?
Fortunately for us, we saw our neighbor while waiting for the paperwork to be completed. Even more fortunate is that our neighbor happens to be a doctor. A pediatric trauma doc, who gave the bloody wound a good look over and said he was fine.
"While you're at it, do you mind looking at this one, too?"
Thursday's injury looks to be healing up nicely.
All good preparation for future gladiator roles, eh (tu) Brutus?
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