Popsicles and Stickers

We have our first set of stitches behind us. And who would've guessed (heavy sarcasm) that it would have been Ben? He slammed his head against our headboard, caught the edge and cut his forehead. I hoped for some glue when I landed in Urgent Care. Instead, we got three stitches.

Ben was happy to visit the doctor -- laid back in the waiting room with his feet propped up, pl: aying on my iPhone -- until the nurses strapped him into a velcro burrito, stuck a two-inch syringe full of pain meds under his skin, and expertly stitched his skin back together. "I am afraid!!!" he screamed. I think he was more mad than anything because, honestly, I've never seen Ben afraid of anything.

 He picked out Hot Wheels and Dora bandages to cover the wound, and we wore those for five days, until we went back to Urgent Care for our second trip. Our conversation in the waiting room went a little something like this:

Me: Hey Ben, where are we.
Ben: At the doctor!
Me: Why are we here?
Ben: To get popsicles and stickers!

He didn't cry when the stitches came out, and the nurses told him bye "until next time" on the way out.  Something about his spunk made them sure this wasn't the first set of stitches. And yes, he got his popsicles an stickers.

John and I are really surprised it took us this long. The stitches are out, we've already got three more scratches on our forehead. Life with the fearless one continues.