Okay, that may have been a little much. But I FINALLY have another Baby Daddy story. Unfortunately, this one is a little bit at the expense of my son. As it turns out, my son is a fast little fucker - my wife's words, not mine. It also turns out that he loves the stairs. Why does this matter? Because he has not yet mastered the stairs. And why does this matter?
Because he fell. Down 14 stairs. Now before anyone jumps on my wife and I for not keeping an eye on him, y'all can fuck off. He is a fast little fucker. We also were not aware that his bedroom door was open, thus allowing him to run around the gate. By all accounts, we thought he was good. Then we heard the *thump*. Or rather, three thumps.
Now, this is not the first time he has fallen down. It is not the first time he has fallen down the stairs. It is the first time that he ended up with a cut near his eye. Cue my panicked wife. Now, I was not worried. Again, he's experienced this before. And while he hasn't had a cut on his eye before, it was not actually in/on his eye. It was near the eye, not the actual eye. If it was the actual eye, he would have become Thor.
Naturally, we called the pediatrician to see what happens. Now, that was not as bad as checking WebMD. If we had checked WebMD, our son would have had cancer and and three months to live. The pediatrician was not nearly that bad. They simply stated that they had another baby fall last week, who ended up with a skull fracture. No biggie.
Of course, we went to the children's hospital. Have you ever been to a children's hospital? It is MISERABLE. It takes at least two hours to get seen, and you always hear that one kid that is screaming such a primordial scream that you cannot tell if they are hurt, or experiencing an exorcism.
In our case, it took long enough that our son was almost fully recovered. It was such a long time that I figured any brain damage would become permanent. As it ended up, they decided it was just a cut, and nothing serious. They did suggest that my son get two stitches, so as to prevent scarring.
In order to give my son the stitches, they gave him a nasal spray of some relaxant. It wasn't a pain killer, but it was to "make him less stressed". What it did, is make him high as fuck. It was about a minute after the spray, and his eyes went half-massed, and he had that dopey as grin that you get when you are either high as a kite, or drunk as a skunk. He was fucking toasted. They then wrapped him up, and set me up to restrain his arms from flailing, while they administered the stitches.
Now did I ever mention that my wife does not do well with blood? If she sees a papercut, she gets a bit queasy. As it turns out, she will damn-near pass out at the sight of someone getting stitches. Major kudos to the nurse, who caught my wife as she started to wobble. I then walked my wife over to the chair, before continuing to restrain my child.
As we were finally discharged to go home, they suggested that we watch and make sure the kiddo did not hurt himself - he was drugged enough that his coordination would be off. They weren't kidding, either. We got the kid home, and started to strip him down for a bath. Our son proceeded to grab a cracker (where did it come from??) and run away. His legs were drunk though, and he tripped and fell. That would not have been bad, except he face-planted into the wall.
Again, anyone who wants to criticize us as parents can fuck off. You try to keep up with this Barry Allen motherfucker. And yes, that is a reference to the Flash and DC Comics. Anyway, we got him bathed and into bed.
Moral of the Story: My son got stitches and looks hardcore, while my wife almost needed a doctor of her own. Also, I cannot wait (!) to get drunk with my son in a few years, when he is old enough to handle his liquor.
