Little MPB and I had a fun time at a local playground the other day.  I loaded him up in his wagon, grabbed some snacks and some water and we walked over to the playground next to a local elementary school.  Little MPB loves wagon rides, snacks and the playground, so it was a win-win-win activity.

Little MPB was climbing and running and generally having a blast.  He even managed to stop for a snack and some water on a hot day, so all was good.  A group of young teenagers arrived and starting playing on the play structure and Little MPB decided he was done with the play structure and began exploring nature.  An activity we always encourage, because there is just so much fun to be had in nature.  So, I sat down on a giant rock while he happily played in the dirt.

He then got up and proceeded to run to a new part of the playground – the bike racks.  For some unknown reason he has always liked bike racks.  But this time I could instantly see he was running rather quickly and was bound to lose his footing, as running two year old’s are about as coordinated as a baby horse learning to stand for the first time.  I had no hope of getting to him quickly enough so as I jumped up to go after him I shouted at him to slow down.

Well, he didn’t slow down.  And he proved me right about his lack of coordination.

Needless to say he fell into the bikerack forehead first.

There was blood, everywhere.

I quickly scooped him up, examined the extend of the injury and knew it was time to get home.  So I carried my screaming toddler with copious amounts of blood rolling down his face back to the play structure to collect our wagon.  As my kid hurts himself all the time, I knew it wasn’t that bad of a cut and he’d be fine, even though as a head injury there was a lot of blood.  And knowing he’d be fine did absolutely nothing to stop the bright red blood from flowing.  And, I’m confident that seeing blood rolling down his face and getting on his arms and legs didn’t help Little MPB calm down.

Of course, I didn’t bring anything to clean Little MPB up with, because I didn’t bring his diaper-bag which is fully stocked for basically every toddler possibility.  So, with Little MPB screaming in my arms, I shouted at the teenagers asking if anyone had any Kleenex, to which they all look absolutely mortified when they saw Little MPB who at this point looked like he had been attacked by a ravenous pack of lions.  The petrified teenager quickly searched through their back-packs, but came up empty handed.

So, like all good parents, I quickly stripped off Little MPB’s shirt and used it to apply pressure and stop the bleeding.  (I decided 5 minutes of sun exposure on his non-sunscreened back and tummy was the better option then continued bleeding).  So, once he was stripped we started walking home (well I walked and carried Little MPB while putting pressure on his forehead with his t-shirt and dragged his wagon home).

A few minutes from him, the blood stopped flowing, and Little MPB calmed down enough to stop sobbing.  But of course, Little MPB then became obsessed with the dry blood on his arms and kept pointing out all the owies, which were in fact, just spots of blood from the real injury, which apparently didn’t hurt him anymore even though it was now a decent sized goose-egg.

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