George has another gash on his forehead. It’s been less than two weeks since the first set of stitches. If you remember, he was sitting on the arm of a chair, toppled off and landed on a terra cotta planter at exactly the correct angle to open his head to the skull. He literally had a hole in his head. And that’s what we called it until it healed, his hole.
Today he came home with a half inch gash. Luckily, we couldn’t see bone, but he was bloody again and really, it’s possible he could have used a stitch. But having spent the better part of a day and several hundred dollars at the doctor’s office just two weeks ago (or so) we decided to tape it and let it go. It’s close to the hairline and it might be sexy later in life. His future partner might thank us (and in the back of my head there was the thought that someone might call family services, but it really didn’t have anything to do with our decision to tape it).
So the great debate was how to tape his head back together. Both our families are medical. My father is a doctor, my mother is a nurse and my sister is now a nurse. My gashes were stitched up on my parents’ bed-except for the one near my eye, which strangely I think I’ve mentioned here before. My husband’s uncle is a surgeon. He, too, has stitched me up. So we tried to squeeze our brains and remember how we’d been treated. Granted, it was the 70s and sometimes they weren’t as worried about scars as I might have liked, but we thought and thought and finally my husband took off for the local Kroger’s.
We decided we should buy some first aid tape and one of us would hold it together and the other would press the tape into his flushed little face. Knowing that this piece of tape needed to stay on for at least three days we tried to be careful and conscientious. Somehow we miscommunicated and taped half my son’s head. Well, not literally, but there’s a piece of tape that stretches across most of his forehead. I really did think my husband was going to trim it. So here’s George in all his glory. This second photo he took all by himself and is quite proud. You can’t see the tape, luckily it became completely transparent after just a few moments.
I don’t know what to think about his boy thing. Part of me wants to blame the caregiver who was watching George both times and part of me knows he’s really a wild child-but doesn’t that just mean you have to be extra careful and watch him extra carefully? I’m getting tired of people saying boys will be boys-mostly because what can I do but shrug and grin sheepishly?