Thursday, December 14, 2006

Proving Paternity, distressed cells indeed

Well, I really wasn't kidding when I said there'd be bloggin' to do after our trip to CT this weekend. In fact, there's already there's been one trip to the ER, and we don't even leave 'til tomorrow!

On the way home from work today I got a call from my wife who, in a state of urgency, informed me she was headed to the ER with Jessica. It seems Jessica was playing tag with mommy and mistook the refrigerator door for "it". She plowed into it, gashing the inside of her cheek and the outside of her lip. Natalie and I met up with them at the hospital. I was convinced a little bactine and a band-aid were all that was needed. The nurse felt otherwise. After an argument about who should stay to hold Jessica down (the nurse won, by telling mom to go home), I stayed to watch the extremely unpleasureable (if that's a word) event of stitching up my three-year-old's face.

It was graphic. It was upsetting. I frankly had no problem with the gross factor, but of course seeing my child turned into a latch-hook quilt wasn't a good thing. But Jessica? Wow. Even as the nurse injected her lip repeatedly with the novacaine needle, she didn't even flinch. Not a whimper. Not a moan. She took it like a man. And, considering I felt a little light-headed after ten minutes of watching that, I'd say she took it better than a man. I reminisced back to the time a few years ago when my friend Paul gave me seven stitches in my knee in the middle of a park after a mountain biking accident and thought, "yeah, she's my daughter."

So now we're home. Jessica's resting comfortably. Natalie is fast asleep, after feeling very, very upset over her sister's misfortune for the entire evening. Mommy's disturbed that she physically injured her child. but tomorrow's another day. And an eight hour car trip. when we get to my niece's bat mitzvah, we'll make sure to have Jessica show her right side for the pictures, since her left looks kind of like an Amtrak train parked on it right now.

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