Yeah. Maybe not quite as zesty as the original song, but...
You may recall my mentioning the splinter that stowawayed in my tushy. It yielded a 3 sticker appointment with Herr Doctor.
|Marcus: 3, Dr. Hales: 0|
No idea who that baby is.
Or why (s)he's eating the stethoscope.
Now we reach the juncture of this post where it gets all Choose-Your-Own Adventure on you. Things may be crossing the line into the realm of TMI. So either play it safe with option 1 or hop aboard this trainwreck with option 2...
Dad held me down while Mom vanquished the splinter (exhibit A). It was a festive Saturday night. I am recovering nicely.
Fast forward another 2 weeks and my tush still hadn't healed. I staunchly refused Mom's intervention offers/attempts (aside from antiseptic spray and Neosporin) -- Dr. Hales told her not to let the wound close back up. Mom effectively kicked the hornets' nest with some vigorous scrubbing one night, and, after a day of festering, I was pretty upset. Realizing that it was time to take matters into her own hands (with Dad's hands restraining me), she followed the doctor's example and popped what-had-become-a-giant-splinter-boil. First squeeze was pretty gross -- it was infected. Second squeeze yielded the shard of wood above (really, the picture doesn't do it justice*). It came shooting out like a greased log down a flume. Mom was horrified. I was shrieking. Dad was confused.
Well, that's par for the course.
(Just kidding, Dad... Besides, without your help, there wouldn't be any pictures.)
I'm doing much better (hooray!), but Mom suspects that this story may not be completely over.
"Booboo on butt" really is fun to say. Quite the tongue twister if you say it a bunch of times really fast.
* Don't worry, we've saved it to put in this year's scrapbook. Bet you can't wait until my baby teeth start falling out.