Tough Guy

The wild man took a tumble down the brick steps this weekend.  He's getting so coordinated and he usually climbs stairs (and everything else) with ease . . . except when he doesn't.  Poor guy split his lip and was bleeding all over the place.  It had been nearly a year since the last time Henry busted his face open, so I guess we were about due.

The housecall nurse couldn't do liquid stitches because the laceration went past the edge of his lip and onto the smooth skin, so she sent us to Children's Hospital.  Karl drove him up there and Henry was acting totally fine by the time they got into the car.  As usual, Karl and I were far more traumatized by the experience than Henry was.

We thought that going to the ER and getting a needle to the face might scare some sense of self-preservation into the kid, but it turned out he didn't actually need stitches, and then the hospital was the supercoolestplaceever, so that backfired.  There was Winnie the Pooh stuff everywhere, and the doctor let him shoot the water pick across the room, and all the nurses were extra nice to him.

Henry also got an admission wristband "just like Daddy's watch."  The nurse asked him what time it was.  And in a perfect Owen Meany moment, he carefully examined his paper wristband and said, "4:16."

It was 4:20. 

The nurse was really confused.

Awesome.  

He only looks sad because Karl told him he
couldn't go back to the park.