Parenting and family, served with a shot of vodka
So, Sunday night, I took an accidental toddler skull to the face. My nose made an unpleasant sound, and it bled and it hurt like hell.
Still, on Monday, I was fairly certain my nose wasn’t busted. After all, it didn’t look anything like all the broken-nosed meatheads who’d been in bar brawls that came up during my Google image search for “broken nose.”
But I decided to go to the doctor today because A) it was still pretty painful four days later and B) my mom was on her fourth day of haranguing me to go.
Well, guess what?
Astonishing. Guess those babies’ soft spots eventually turn into weapons of mass destruction. (And also, I probably should have listened to my mom.)
I have to see an ENT next week to find out what’s next.
In the meantime, my handsome, sweet Superhero offered me more of his stuffed animals to sleep with tonight because he was sure it would help me feel better. And I’m about to take him up on it.