So this afternoon as I put on my jacket, I see his tongue on the closet door. "Don't lick that" I say as he runs outside. Grabbing the baby and diaper bag I slam the front door, only to hear one of those screams that fills a mother with dread. My son has licked the metal hand rail on the coldest day this winter. I tell him to stay still as I run for the hot water. He continues screaming at the top of his lungs until the water loosens his stuck tongue. Once freed, he runs into the house, still crying, and collapses on the living room floor leaving three bloody tongue prints on the light carpet. My poor little boy.
...One of those things we all do only once.
1 comment:
...interesting, maybe I am nurturing a young chef. He already measured, counts and pours ingredients for me. So the challenge for mom is to keep that "taster" tasting in the kitchen.
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