“…I can never figure out where the toys ARE, because Mommy never SHOWS me where they are, because she’s MEAN! I don’t want her to be mean, but she doesn’t do it! That’s why, because she hates me! (sob)”
When he came to find me casually sitting on the couch, (where I had been the whole time, because I certainly wasn’t outside the bathroom door laughing at him), he walked with a severe limp. Each drag of the foot was accompanied by some type of whine or cry. I ignored the limp, of course. That’s protocol for injuries around here. Especially severe ones. But he was still limping after tooth-brushing and story time. So, I asked him about his ailment. He sniffled that he and Reed were playing in our bedroom and Reed said that the bed was a swimming pool, “And I did a cannonball, and now it hurts right here.” Is it bad that I had a hard time not laughing out loud? I’m gonna feel like the world’s worst mother when I find out he has a stress fracture tomorrow. I just hope he doesn’t have anything that requires a cast. Calvin and crutches? New worst nightmare.