We were in the ER, and all was good.
Ethan had survived two nurses, a resident and a doctor poking at the cut above his eye that was just big enough to require several stitches. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, chomping on Goldfish crackers and gazing at all of the equipment in the room. He later would go into hysterics for five minutes while the doctor actually put the stitches in, but overall, he enjoyed his adventure that got him out of going to bed on time by, when all was said and done, about four hours.
On the television mounted on the wall above us, NBC News was telling us Osama Bin Laden was dead. I'd given up thinking I would ever hear those words.
When a woman came in with a computer to officially register us, Ethan listened with acute interest as I answered all the questions he is learning about in school. Address. Phone number. Birth date. When she was gone, Ethan didn't like the silence.
"Mom? TALK!" he commanded, in the most serious of tones.
He did this to me again at lunch today, when we were silently munching for a few moments.
Mom, talk. I don't feel like hanging out in my own little world right now. I want you there with me.
By all means, little guy. You can push me around with those words anytime.
Monday, May 2, 2011
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Yes, such a blessing that he wants to hear you, engage with you, talk with you!
glad he is ok!
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