Oliver's gotten quite good at easing himself out of a sit and onto the floor. Consequently, I've stopped worrying so much about plopping him down on the hard floor when I'm doing dishes and laundry.
Last night and this morning, though, he took a spill! Last night, I sat Oliver on the floor, peeled a nectarine, and gave it to him to gnaw on. He had a grand time with it. Then, he leaned forward and fell onto his face! I went to scoop him up, and he was sobbing like crazy. It had to hurt. Between Andrew and me, we were able to calm him before long. I decided the floor must have been slippery from the nectarine juices.
This morning, he was playing with his toys on the floor as I emptied and loaded the dishwasher. I saw him lean forward and then fall down again. This time, he didn't smack his face, but he still cried hard. I soothed him and played with him. I even called the wambulance (http://becky-shattuck.blogspot.com/2008/04/do-i-need-to-call.html). That's when I noticed a little bump on his upper lip. There was a little cut. I'm not sure if it was from last night's fall or this morning's fall, but he definitely bit his upper lip. Poor little man.
Showing posts with label wambulance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wambulance. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Do I Need to Call...
...the wambulance?
Tonight was the three thousandth time Andrew has asked me that question. I am now declaring that I'm never telling him one more thing again, ever.
As kids, when we'd fall and experience the normal childhood bumps and bruises, my mom would declare:
Do I need to call the wambulance?
At that age, we didn't really realize she was teasing us. We actually *liked* it when the wambulance was called. My mom would start singing, "Dooodoooo, doodoooo, dooodooo," mimicing an ambulance's siren. Then she'd pick us up and run us around the house singing the siren's song. It seemed to make our bumps all better.
In a stupid moment of nestalga, I told Andrew the wambulance story. Now, I will never live it down.
Any time I wack my hand or tell him a story that involves me getting minorly injured, he gets all excited and asks if he can call the WAMBULANCE. Only he adds in the especially long "Wahhhhh."
A few moments ago, he gave my rump a hard pat. It was unexpected, and I yelped. "Did it hurt?" Yes. "Sorry. Does it still hurt?" No. He didn't miss a beat. "Do I need to call the wambulance?!"
Thanks a lot.
Excuse me while I call the wambulance :(
Tonight was the three thousandth time Andrew has asked me that question. I am now declaring that I'm never telling him one more thing again, ever.
As kids, when we'd fall and experience the normal childhood bumps and bruises, my mom would declare:
Do I need to call the wambulance?
At that age, we didn't really realize she was teasing us. We actually *liked* it when the wambulance was called. My mom would start singing, "Dooodoooo, doodoooo, dooodooo," mimicing an ambulance's siren. Then she'd pick us up and run us around the house singing the siren's song. It seemed to make our bumps all better.
In a stupid moment of nestalga, I told Andrew the wambulance story. Now, I will never live it down.
Any time I wack my hand or tell him a story that involves me getting minorly injured, he gets all excited and asks if he can call the WAMBULANCE. Only he adds in the especially long "Wahhhhh."
A few moments ago, he gave my rump a hard pat. It was unexpected, and I yelped. "Did it hurt?" Yes. "Sorry. Does it still hurt?" No. He didn't miss a beat. "Do I need to call the wambulance?!"
Thanks a lot.
Excuse me while I call the wambulance :(
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)