That wasn't ketchup on his shirt..

I knew I shouldn't have gone to work today from the moment I got up. I was more tired than I should be considering that it's been almost a week since I finished exams. I wasn't feeling sick, exactly, but I was experiencing a general malaise. I seem to have contracted the Boy's goopy eye syndrome, too.

My day started at 6am by going outside in my pyjamas and picking up the trash can that our aggressive neighbourhood raccoons had knocked over. In the middle of my shower, I was seized with the fear that I had thrown out the government tax return check, so I showered quickly and went on a frantic dripping search through the piles of mail on our dining room table. I hadn't thrown it out, of course. I never throw out money. When I woke the Boy, he asked to go back to bed. I should have listened. I wanted to go back to bed too.

I spent a long, frustrating trip on the subway because someone had pulled the personal assistance alarm. I finally got to work and had no sooner sat down then I got a call from Mr Earth. The Boy fell at daycare and had cut his head rather badly. A mother who was a doctor saw it and thought it would need stitches. They wanted me to meet him at the hospital emergency room. They tried calling me, but when they couldn't reach me (I was stuck on the subway), they called Mr Earth. Mr Earth is out of town on business.

We spent a long time waiting to see a pediatrician, eventhough there didn't seem to be anyone there. The Boy was being very good and cooperative, but his bandage fell off at one point. The cut had been described to me as "deep, but small". It actually extended almost the length of his eyebrow, and when I saw it my stomach lurched. I'm not queasy at all with cuts and scrapes, but there's something innately wrong about seeing perfect two-year-old flesh sliced open. I knew the first real accident that requires medical attention could happen any day, but it's quite another thing entirely to be sitting and looking at it. I was shocked that the Boy was so calm. My poor brave, bandaged baby. The only time he cried at the hospital was when the doctor glued the cut together. Glue for flesh is weird. Better than stitches, though, all told. Not sure I could watch my baby's flesh being sewn together. Although, I'm sure I will someday.. .knock on wood. At least today eased me into it a bit.

The Boy was fantastic throughout - a real trouper. Other than not taking a nap. At all. The whole day. My tired old bones weren't happy.

Anyone know of a good way to get blood stains out of shirt?