This week, the Pea started standing up in the tub. Now, it’s no secret, I’m not a huge fan of bath-time, on a good day. But, this new development makes it worse. It’s not that I don’t like clean kids. It’s just that I find bath-time nerve-wracking and I’d prefer not to have daily panic attacks.
(In a related story: I’m pretty sure I now have heart palpitations and perhaps post traumatic stress disorder. Also: I’m a bit of a hypochondriac and a full-blown worrier.)
When the Danger-man was a baby bath-time was my favorite part of the day. Until the day he learned to stand up in the tub.
And bit his tongue.
I have never seen so much blood, then or since. Considering the fact it was coming out of my baby’s face: I freaked the hell out. I scooped him up in his towel and ran. We lived 5 blocks away from the hospital so, my plan was to run to the hospital.
I got out the door, downstairs, and a block and a half before I calmed down enough to re-think my plan. (Perhaps, I should have shoes on and some kind of identification on me before I come tearing into the ER with a blood-covered baby.) So, I stopped to assess the situation and realized he had stopped bleeding. He had even stopped crying and was now laughing. (No doubt at my crazy ass.) I took a peek inside his mouth. It was a bit messy but his tongue was still intact.
By then my brain was able to process that these where good things. So, I reformulated my plan. This one included going home, putting shoes on, dressing him in something other than a bloody towel and calling my mom.
My mom convinced me to calm down for another half of second and call his doctor. The doctor convinced me that nothing was seriously wrong and that he’d be fine.
Then I came up with a new plan: sit down and cry. And the Danger-man toddled over and hugged his crazy-ass mama. Which just made me cry even harder.
So, now that the Pea is standing up in the tub, I think it’s time to delegate bath-time to Eric. For my own sanity.