Stuff Happens.

And then I blog, of course.

199(something): DJ born, and does a poo which is unusual in being rather dark and verging on black, he also had a hernia, the awkward git.

Then he spilt my Sea-Monkeys into the carpet, and fell over in some nettles, and broke his leg, and got attacked by our dog Oscar so he had to go to a new home, and broke his tooth (twice) and just now...

Managed to stabbed in the eye with a balloon pump.

Of all the freaking things to be stabbed with by our little sister it had to be the pointy end of a balloon pump, not something nice like a calculator in the knee, but in his freaking eye as well.

I tried to handle it myself, but it was still bleeding after 10 seconds so I dialled that number which people dial what was it? Oh yes, I remember now: 999.

"Is he conscious and breathing properly?"

(at this point he was sobbing whilst hopping from foot to foot, so I assumed yes, he was breathing and conscious)

let me tell you something, phoning for an ambulance ("Hello? Help, there's blood, every where...") does not improve the mood, so I pointed out that he had two eyes. It didn't help, but at least I didn't vocalise my thoughts about eyepatches.

Eventually mother turned up, about the same time the ambulance, and lo and behold, guess who opened their eye to find that it had stopped bleeding? "Is that all?" said the medic jovially "Shall we go back already?"

That was the last straw, I really didn't enjoy being portrayed as an over reacting sissy pants, so I hid in the kitchen. But I was called back out to testify against the 7 year-old perpetrator: "It was a balloon pump" I said as some sort of weak justification for my actions.

And after all that work (fetch a cloth, unlock the door, refrain from feeding the injured etc) I didn't even get to go in the ambulance.

Life's a bitch.