Little guy: "I think my foot is broken. It really hurts, mom. I need to see the doctor."
Me: "Put some ice on it."
Little guy: "The cold hurts."
Little guy: "Mom, it's feeling worse every day, not better. I need to see the doctor."
Me: "Let's just wrap it up in an ace bandage. Better?"
Little guy: "Not really."
Little guy: "I can't walk."
Me: "Do you think we need to make an appointment with the bonologist?"
Little guy: "Sigh...."
Anyway, he did go to the doctor this morning. And while they didn't find anything conclusive on the x-rays, his diagnosis was a bone bruise or fracture and he's been fitted with a lovely and large boot that he has to wear for three weeks. I know, I know, worst mom of the year here.
And I should know better by now, I really, really should. After all, he's already broken eight bones. The dude knows when he's broken.
But it's all fine. I love my kid, he loves me...and now my inner crafty chick has a few weeks to figure out how to make that heavy boot fit in with all the casts and splints on the "injury" mobile I created for him a few years back.
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