A Stitch Story

When my oldest daughter was three, she loved going to visit my good friend across the street. She would pick up and run across the street. As you can imagine, this was not a safe thing for her to do. First, I scolded, to no avail. Then, I spanked, to no avail. Then, I spanked and scolded, to no avail. Then, I set her in her playpen every time I left the room. Finally, I sat her down at the curb and told her that if she ran across the street and a car was coming, SMACK! She'd hit the pavement and her skin would split open and I'd have to take her to the emergency room where the doctor would use a needle and thread to stitch her back together again. That prevented her from running across the street, however, that did not prevent her from falling on her chin in the driveway. I took her to the emergency room and the nurse said, "She needs stitches." My daughter began to scream, "NO, I DON'T WANT THE DOCTOR TO PUT A NEEDLE IN ME AND SEW ME BACK TOGETHER!" The nurse said, "Oh, she's had stitches before?" "No," I said. The nurse replied in disgust, "Well, how does a 3 year old know the graphic details of stitches?" "Because," I said, weakly, "I am a good mother." I guess it doesn't matter what we say to the ER nurses, the fact that you're in an ER in the first place reflects poorly on your motherhood. The nurse had to strap my daughter in a papoose to keep her from running out the door into the street. Sheesh, if I had had a papoose I could have kept my daughter from running into the street, too.