“Mommy, I broke my eye.”

Conversation with kiddo- It begins with “Mommy, I broke my eye.”  Then, he practically sticks his finger in his eyeball as he points.

“Can you see?”

He replies by sticking his finger in his other eyeball.

Well… I guess he COULD see.

New rule- No issues first thing in the morning… I can barely see out of my own eyes…. and they’re not broken… well… not any more broken than normal….

My own puffy eyes survey the situation…. it’s puffy.  No blood.  Eyeball intact.

He then shows me the crib rail.. he’s very good about taking you to the accident scene. Okay… I THINK he must have bonked it.

I try to look at his eyeball. He ducks his head, squirms, wiggles, pokes his good eye while saying “eye”, and runs away.

I again ask if he can see… no reply. Apparently, he must have “broke” his ears, too.

I ask if he needs to go to the doctor. He says, “toast.”

We’re out of bread, I gave him yogurt. He hasn’t said any more about his eye.

I’m, on the other hand, debating if I should go bang my head against a wall… either I’ll wake up or I’ll “broke” my brain.

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About Mary K. Smith

I was widowed in July 2009, when I lost my beloved husband, John, to melanoma. Cancer SUCKS. We have a young son who was just a year old when his father died. I live on a small farm in Maryland which is home to horses, cats, and a dog. I started this blog as a way for me to heal, a way to remember my husband, and eventually I'd like to share it with our son so he can see the love that his father had for him, the love that we had for each other, what a great person his father was, and how hard his father fought to live.
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