It was a real, I'm-hurt-and-not-faking-it sob. "I had a wreck!" Her bike helmet was slightly askew. Her arm was dripping blood, and she was limping. Together, we stood over the sink cleaning the blood away trying to get to the source of the gushing. The Dad joined us with the hydrogen peroxide, and Daughter 1 eventually showed up with a hand towel and dozens of excuses as to why the bike wreck was not her fault.
We eventually (and collectively) got Daughter 2 cleaned up enough to move into the living room. It was a pretty deep cut, but because it was on her elbow, we knew that stitches wouldn't be an option. And it wasn't that long. If she got any stitches, it'd just be one.
The Dad and I decided that the only thing keeping us from being ER doctors was medical school, so we decided to fix her up ourselves. After we doused the elbow area with the hydrogen peroxide, we dabbed it dry and then slapped on a butterfly bandage, slathered it with ointment, and covered it with a gauze square.
There. All patched up. We were settled on the couch eating the obligatory ice cream that comes with major injury. Daughter 2 was leaned up against me when she let out another very real sob, "Moooommmmmamaaaa!"
"What, honey?" I sat up careful of her elbow.
"I'm sorry!"
"Sorry about what, honey?"
"I'm sorry we forgot to take a picture of my elbow before we bandaged it."
I wrinkled my brow to show my confusion.
"We didn't get a picture, Momma. A picture for your blog."
As a parent, it's gratifying to see a child display the same priorities as I have.
Gawd, I love this girl.
