I’m not sure if I should blame the cat or not. I don’t really believe in such superstition, but it’s one helluva coincidence.
My friend is moving away, so I took her to dinner Sunday night. On the way back to my house, a cat darted across the street in front of me.
“That’s a bad sign, that cat was black,” my friend gasped.
“You know I don’t believe in that superstitious crap,” I replied, “but that cat has to compete with the big black cloud that is always hovering over my head.”
My cell phone started ringing as I pulled in the driveway, it was Auntie.
“There’s been an emergency, and Connor needs to go to the ER for stitches.”
What?! “I’m in the driveway, be there in a second.”
As soon as I opened the door, I heard his screaming. I ran into the bathroom, and found Connor lying on the floor, surrounded by blood. Hubs was holding a bandage to his head and applying pressure.
In the car, on the way to the ER, I got the story. Hubs sent Connor to the bathroom to brush his teeth before bed. Since Connor can get distracted by lint, he immediately got into the bathtub and started jumping over the tub wall, like a kangaroo. Because…well, because it’s more entertaining than brushing your teeth, I guess. And apparently he caught his foot, and came down and hit his head on either the sink or toilet. When I asked him what he hit his head on, he said “I don’t know, I didn’t see it coming.”
Ironically, I just had a conversation with him last week about why we don’t jump out of the tub.
“Because you could fall and hit your head and bust it open.”
“Would it bleed?”
“Of course it would bleed,” I sputtered.
“Well how would it stop?”
“You would have to go to the emergency room and the doctor would have to sew stitches in your head.”
And that’s exactly what they did.
Honestly, he was pretty much a trooper. Except when he got annoyed that there was a crying baby in there. Explanations of “it’s a sick baby, he can’t help that he’s crying” were lost on him. Why is it that he can make noise like a construction crew, but if someone else makes noise he loses his shit??
They had to strap him to one of those papoose boards. After it was done, he surprised me by exhibiting a firm grasp on sarcasm.
“Thanks mom, THANK YOU for taking me to the emergency room and letting them strap me to the papoose board. THANK YOU for letting me be strapped down and not able to move.”
Yeah, yeah, I know it was a stressful night for him. Scary and all that. Still, do I need that attitude?? I mean, it was all I could do not to yack up all the surf and turf I’d had.
Two days later, the Vice Principal called me. He was concerned for Connor’s safety because he had been STANDING ON THE TOILET IN THE BATHROOM. Again. And could I please speak with him?
Oh yes, yes I can.
“Hello, Connor? Remember how you jumped out of the tub the other night and cracked your head open and bled all over the place? Remember how you had to go to the ER and get strapped down and have stitches sewn into your head?”
“Was that fun for you? Did you like doing that? Are you wanting to do that again?”
“THEN STAY OFF THE DAMN TOILET BEFORE YOU CRACK SOMETHING ELSE OPEN!!”
I’m thinking he may just need to wear a helmet wherever he goes. Maybe when he’s older he can get a job on one of those Jackass movies. At least it would be a job.