The agony

On the way to church yesterday, Ethan was running his fingers along the glass block windows of an apartment building. One of them was cracked, and it gave Ethan a lovely cut on his finger. As soon as he noticed the cut, Ethan, of course, got very upset. (It was bleeding quite a bit, and I’m sure it hurt.)

Since we were only about a block and a half from church, and I am not in the habit of carrying a first aid kit (although perhaps I should), I told him we would have to go to church to take care of it. I rinsed it off with water, gave him a burp cloth from the diaper bag to hold on it (to soak up the blood) and suggested he put pressure on it to stop the bleeding. [Noooo, it hurts too much to do that.]

He was screaming and crying at the top of his lungs, and as it was still early I told him he needed to stop the screaming part — the cut wasn’t that bad. 

He obligingly switched to moaning and a few steps later, holding his hand in the air with the cloth over his finger, he very dramatically moaned, “Oh the pain … the agony.” At which point I started laughing. 

I know. What kind of a Mom laughs at her child as he’s crying and bleeding all over? But honestly, what kind of a seven-year-old starts moaning “the pain, the agony” when he cuts his finger? 

Ethan, of course, got very angry that I laughed. “Why are you laughing at me when I’m in pain?” 

Me: “Oh honey, I’m not laughing because you hurt yourself. I’m laughing because even in pain, you have the most incredible vocabulary.”

Ethan: “I don’t have a good vocabulary. I have a horrible vocabulary. I have the worst vocabulary in the world.”

Two seconds later. moaning: “Glass is evil. Why did they invent glass? I think glass should be illegal.”

Me, in another fine Mom moment: “Well, just think if we didn’t have glass for our windows. The bugs would get in the house and it would be pretty cold in the winter.” (What kind of Mom argues with her injured child about the relative merits of the existence of glass?)

Ethan: “Well I’m staying away from glass. I’m going to keep a 50 foot radius around all glass.”

Me: “Hmm. That might be a little impractical. Maybe you could try for a 3 foot radius.”

Fast forward to church, where he was talking to Caroline who was getting the first aid kit out to help him. In a trembling voice: “I just need the magic of a band aid to help make it feel better.” Then, after she had put the band aid on, “I can feel the magic working already.” 

She managed to keep a straight face. Unlike Mom. (Well, I kept a straight face this time … it was the “agony” that got me.)

Needless to say, our little drama queen is fine today, and has ditched the band aid already. Goofball.