Part of accepting maturity is delaying gratification. Tuesday night, I let me "T" take the wheel (that's a United States of Tara reference). I had some extra money burning a hole in my pocket. And I saw that Bath and Body Works was having a sale on hand soap and body wash. Sure, I had hand soap. But it wasn't some overpriced, over scented, migraine inducing, obnoxious aroma. It was some plain ole Dial. Ok - it was Cherry Blossom. But it didn't come out in a foam. I just (almost) finished decorating one of my bathrooms and I wanted it to look perfect. Only B&BW soaps are going to be the perfect accessory. Sure, I have body wash too. But, again, it's falls into the same category as the Dial.
So at 7:45 p.m. Mini-Me woke up from her nap and I decided to just run up really quick. I packed little Q up and headed out the door. We got to the store about 10 minutes later. We entered and my baby girl was in awe. This whole "girl" thing is still a wonder to me. I know she's 1 1/2 but it is still a very large adjustment from the 3 boys. I have a new found appreciation for girly things. Seeing her little face light up when she sees something feminine! Don't get me wrong, she has an incredible fondness for the boys' things too. But she loves purses and "lip gloss" (read: an empty tube of Chap Stick). So as we are perusing the shelves and bins, we come across this ADORABLE little compact. It was a small, bright yellow smiley face with a big red bow on it's head with a red rhinestone in the center of the bow that slid open and closed. A toothy smile drew across her face, her legs kicked in excitement. She giggled when she saw the pretty baby in the mirror. I melted. Of course, it was hers. She could put it in her little purse! Maybe it was a combination of the toxic levels of perfumed potions mixed with the bright, flashy packaging and some spritz girl chasing me around with some "Island" scent - I didn't think.
We finalized our purchase and the compact didn't leave her grasp the whole ride home. As soon as we came in - She showed her prize off to her brothers and placed it into her purse. She would pull it out every so often and smile at the baby smiling at her. Wednesday morning, I told my Heterosexual Life Partner about it. We gushed over the cuteness of a tiny girl holding a tiny mirror in her tiny hand. The compact didn't get much thought until later.
Fast Forward to 3:00 p.m. I'm clacking away at the keyboard, engulfed in work, listening to the kids play happily through the house. Mini-Me traveled back to her brothers' room, which she does often. Usually to snatch some "off limit" toy or to make The Youngest Boy cry. Soon, she started fussing. It was not a full fledged cry. More like - bitching. It sounded like she was trying to get something that was stuck and she was annoyed. I got up to investigate. I surely was not expecting the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. There she was, sitting on the bed, covered in blood. Mainly because she was shaking her hand like she was trying to get a piece of tape off of her hand. I didn't bother trying to figure out what caused it. I grabbed her and ran to the bathroom. I ordered all kids out of the bedroom until we could determine what happened.
Once in the bathroom, I had to clean her in order to find the origin of the bleeding. The Oldest went to investigate the cause. The Middle Son came in with a broken antenna from a CD player. But that didn't seem likely. I found the deep gash on the tip of Mini-Me's thumb. She had fileted the tip. And still not crying. I put pressure on it for roughly 15 minutes. The one thing that I've learned from 13 years in the pro wrestling business and 15 years raising sons - it's First Aid. I've also amassed a very thorough First Aid kit that includes suture removers and other such tools (it helps that I have a sister who works in a medical office and that Michael used to). The Oldest comes into the bathroom holding a bloody, broken compact. Enough guilt set to rival Catholicism. There weren't enough Hail Mary's to absolve me. Why on Earth didn't I think about this? Normally, I can look at an object and come up with at least 15 ways one of the kids can inflict injury on another of the kids using it. I determined that I could not control the bleed. I wrapped it in gauze and medical tape - tightly - hoping to stop the bleed. Then I put a clean sock over it and then her shirt so that she couldn't pull it off on the way to the hospital.
You know that you're a borderline terrible mother when you have an ER routine. Each kid knows what to do, who to call and how to prepare. The Oldest loaded up Mini-Me's diaper bag and made the call to grandma, The Middle Son started cleaning the blood trail while packing his things to take to Grandma's and The Youngest Son- well, he was just grateful that it wasn't him this time as he told Mini-Me of the amenities of Children's Medical Center as we piled into the car. She just smiled and then fell asleep on the way. Fortunately, Grandma lives seconds from the hospital.
Michael met us inside as we greeted the same P.A. that handled The Youngest Son's chin and broken jaw as well as his recent "tooth thru the cheek" just weeks ago. First, he was going to stitch but once he got her cleaned up (and lidocained) he decided to cut the flap of skin and apply pressure. Unfortunately, there was no stopping the bleeding. He ordered a clotting agent which finally worked after 3 hours. Not a whimper out of my baby! The doctor looked at us and said "Her brothers are in trouble! This is one tough little girl!"
She's going to have a scar. And will NEVER, NEVER own another compact again. Ever. Even when she's like 40. Nope. No more. Seriously - What the elf was I thinking? Now, just feeling very blessed that she is okay and it was not nearly as bad as it could have been.
