Ava is not very girly in any of the stereotypical girly ways. She doesn't like to play dress up and prefers balls, cars and sand over any doll. But she does love shoes, painted toenails, and twirling around in circles in a pretty dress. Even if she's not wearing a dress.
One afternoon I'm chatting on the phone in Ava's room as she's twirling around and laughing hysterically as she falls crashing to the floor. Predictably, she falls in random, ingenuous ways. Sure enough, I watch as she headplants directly into her dresser and promptly punctures a hole in her forehead on the drawer pull.
While there is screaming and some blood trickling down her forehead, both the crying and bleeding stop remarkably fast and since she is normally quite the drama queen for pain I figure that it really must not hurt that bad. (She is pretty alarmed when she reaches up to touch it and sees her own blood for the first time.) Still, there is a bit of a gaping hole in the flesh; too small for a stitch but open and deep enough to leave a nice scar. So I decide that a nurse needs to at least look at it. Ava becomes much more worried about the impending visit to the doctor's office but the magic of being three means you can now talk her through most events. We walk in the door with her blaringly red juicy wound preceding us and when the nurse comes to help, Ava understates "I got an owie!" I was surprised at how grown up she was throughout the whole thing after I reassured her how nice the nurse would be. So Ava's forehead is steri-stripped and bandaged and we're on our way.
Oh and by the way, that bandage was glued on so tight that removing it a week later was more traumatic than the whole ordeal combined.
You had to be there.
