Yesterday afternoon I stepped on a nail. It went right through my flip flop and into my foot. I didn't realize that George had set up some boards by the gate to try and prevent Maia from escaping. Both kids were out with me when it happened. I yelled pretty loudly because it not only hurt like the dickens, it shocked me. The first thought that entered my mind was, shoot, my favorite flip flops are ruined and then, darn, I can't go to the gym tonight and finally, I'm glad it was me and not one of the kids. Samuel's first thought was that finally he was going to get to do what he's always wanted to do.
Mom, don't worry, I'll call 911! He was jumping around the backyard in anxious anticipation of this event. In the meantime I was bleeding pretty badly and trying to hop inside while carrying a 25 lb baby. Not easy. I quickly told Samuel not to call 911. I was going to be ok. He then was adamant that we had to call daddy because apparently mom can't handle a crisis alone. While he called daddy and narrated the events, I got in the sink and washed my foot off.
Of course, I'm ok. I got a tetanus shot this morning and I'm supposed to elevate my foot as much as possible. It hurts to walk on it but Advil helps.
All night, Samuel was very concerned about me.
Mom, you're ok, right?
They're not going to cut your foot off, are they?
No, I get to keep my foot.
Are you really ok?
I'm fine, honey.
I think this was the first time he'd ever seen me in real pain. To a four year old, moms are pretty much their world. We are unbreakable. We fix the boo boos, dry the tears, give the hugs. He realized that I'm human.