
What a weekend.
So, JJ takes music classes every Sat am at 9:45 at Eastman. He
loves these classes but it's really tough for him to wake up (God bless him and his love of sleeping in!). So, yesterday I woke him up at around 8:45 and asked if he wanted to go to music class. He answered w/ a groggy "No...." I asked him if he wanted to sleep some more and he said, "Yes, good night." I'm not arguing w/ him so I went back to bed. Strike number one.
He woke up a little before 10 all psyched to go to music class. Lesson learned: 2 year olds don't understand the concept of "it's too late" very well. He asked about music class all day. He was still talking about it today, sigh.
So, then I decided that since we had all morning free, and my sister was taking her boys to get their haircuts, I would bring Jayson too. You have to understand--JJ HATES getting his haircut. We're not talking crying or whining--we are talking kicking, screaming, it takes three people to hold him to get a haircut. Part of me wants to let him just grow his hair down to his knees so I don't have to deal w/ it. But the other part of me (that has my father's military genes) says "Suck it up and learn to get a haircut--this is the real world." Strike number two.
The poor kid screamed bloody murder the entire time--to the point where people were coming in to see what was wrong w/ this kid. It was awful. So fun music class=0; horrendous, awful mommy torture=1.
By this point, I'm feeling pretty guilty. He had a crappy Saturday. I was determined for him to have a super Sunday. I made plans w/ Lisa so that Emma and Jayson could play in the afternoon and then we could watch the Superbowl. Great. Calm and fun.
Well, my fate/karma/the crappy mommy gods had other plans.
JJ was playing this am and wearing my shoes (he loooovvvveesss to wear "big people" shoes). And he fell. Into the table. And cut his chin. Now my "mommy gut" didn't start blaring and going off and thinking the cut was bad. Yes, it was a cut; yes, it was bleeding a bit--but JJ didn't cry for long and I thought it was fine. Until it bled through two band-aids and then I didn't think it was so fine anymore. Well, I waited almost 4 hours before we took him to have it looked at b/c I really was on the fence about how bad it was. The doctor took one look at it and said he needed stitches. Great. Strike number three.
So it took four of us to hold him down--Mike was on arm and leg duty, the nurse held his head, the doctor did the deed and I was in JJ's face telling him everything was ok. I'm such. An f'ing. Liar.
Well, he survived (w/out any novacaine--the dr said it was faster to just stitch it than to give him a shot and wait for it to get numb and then stitch it--ugh) and is happy as a clam--but now I feel like crap. People warned me that one of the things that you will never fully understand until you are a parent is true guilt. Well, I get it. I am responsible for guiding this little man on his beginning journey through the universe and if this weekend is any testament as to how I'm doing--man, are we in trouble. So, as you can see from the photo above--he got his haircut. And the Dora band-aid is covering his first battle scar under his chin.
Lord help us on Friday when we have to go have the stitches taken out--next weekend can't get any worse right? RIGHT??? groan.....