another first

Oliver got his first stitches today. In his head - two of them.

He was walking on the pew in church, back and forth, almost from one end to the other because we were sitting on one end and a family with a little girl about Oliver's age was sitting on the other. I told him several times not to walk on the pew, since it seems disrespectful. But then the other little girl started doing it too and they seemed so cute, going back and forth together, that I kind of let it go.

After doing this for a little while, I noticed that the little girl was sitting down with her parents again, and I thought it was time to reign Oliver in, too. But on his way back, he tripped, fell off the pew and smacked his head into the leg of the pew ahead of us. Of course, he cried, I picked him up and escaped to the Mother's Room with him while the other mother watched Amélie.

After a little cuddle he stopped crying and I was about to head back into the sanctuary to sit down when I noticed something wet on my arm. My sleeve had dark smears. Then I saw his blood covered little head.

A friend of mine, who happened to be in the Mother's Room at the time, went and grabbed the pastor's wife, who is a nurse. She is so lovely and composed and calmly suggested that we make our way to the hospital for a couple of stitches.

Fortunately, my mum showed up just as we were leaving, and accompanied me so I wouldn't have to juggle baby and boy at the same time.

Ols was a champion through the whole thing, crying only in the beginning, and then during the stitch-up - not because he could feel anything, but because he wasn't happy about being restrained.

So this afternoon, after getting home, we indulged a boy (who didn't seem to get what all the fuss was about) by watching some episodes from Blue Planet (AKA "The Fish Show"). And he indulged us by letting us administer a few extra cuddles.

On a less happy note, shortly after I started writing this Kyle broke the news that Tiggywinkle is no more. We don't know what happen. I suspect a heart attack from his dormant lifestyle. Don't get me started on the guilt I've felt over the past year-and-a-half over keeping him all penned up so he can't amble his standard five miles a night, instead just eating and sleeping and occasionally being taken out to be shown off.

The point is, it's been quite a day.

I suppose some days are like that ... fortunately they're not so often.