Bleeding on the Baby
So after nearly 3 weeks of quarantine, we left the house yesterday. I dropped off the two kids at my Mother-in-law’s so I could go unaccompanied to visit my best friend and her nearly month old little girl. I saw them in the hospital the day she was born, and haven’t been able to get back since because we had the plague and what kind of friend would I be to bring them a meal, a gift, and a virus that just kept on giving?
Instead, I waited until we were all healthy and I went alone to spend some quiet time with her and her beautiful daughter. Just holding a peaceful, sleeping little girl made me start to wonder if it’s time to renew THAT discussion with my husband. Of course I come into her house and after getting her dinners into the freezer and fridge notice that there’s blood running down my hand. Can I hold the baby now??
My lovely dry and cracked fingers got bumped a little too hard and one of the NuSkinned splits cracked yet again, so I walk into her home and within 5 minutes she’s offering me a bandaid. I of course have my kit in my purse and proceed to the bathroom to wash my hands…only to realize I need to cart my dripping wet hands back to her kitchen to get a paper towel. What kind of guest would I be to wipe my bloody hands on her nice bathroom towels. One more thing she’d have to deal with – a blood stained towel.
So there I am, 6 minutes in to my “quiet” visit with her, hand wrapped in a paper towel, fumbling through my emergency bandaid kit for a suitable sized wrap to make sure that it doesn’t spring another leak while I’ve got her precious bundle in my arms. Knowing how dry I am, you’d think I’d have a bottle of NuSkin in my purse. Well, that’s going to be there after this post. Just in time for us to leave and run a few weekend errands as a family.
That is, after my husband gets up. I took first duty with the boys so he could sleep in a bit this morning. We’ve been up for just about 2 hours and it’s nearly 9am. He needs his rest, week full of late nights working (1 or 2am nights…not at the office until 8 type of thing). I’m still convinced that he’s going to come home from nursery school with a note this fall asking if my husband really makes “bacon” for a living. Everytime he asks “where Daddy?” my response is usually, “at work, making bacon.”