This is the third time in less than a year about a bucket of blood came out of this kid’s head…you think there’s any blood left in there? Probably not, because he keeps deciding to jump off of crap and run directly into sharp corners as his did to achieve this fantastic gash right under his right eyebrow. Yes, I know, he’s a boy. Worse will happen. I’ve heard it all. It doesn’t make me freak the fuck out any less when it happens. I am NOT good in an emergency.
I blame our huge Scottish heads being too heavy for our bodies as children. It’s terrible to carry about this massive heed. When I was a bairn they called me two things “hen” which all old Scottish broads call girls, or they called me “baw heed.” Don’t understand that? That’s Scottish old bitch for “bowl head.” The called me friggin’ bowl head. Those scenes of the Dad in ‘So I Married an Axe Murderer’ of the Scottish parents mocking the kid’s head? Totally accurate depiction of Scottish parenting as a whole.
Anyway, back to Finn. Third time’s the charm, right? Am I done for the year at least with him splitting his head open?
Bandage and wound care: Courtesy of Aunt Noel
Anxiety and a Sense of Impending Doom: Courtesy of Mama