I took Josh to The Flying Fish earlier this week to get dinner. I wasn't feeling up to cooking and I had a coupon for a free entree that was burning a hole in my pocket. While we waited for the order, I walked around the shop showing Josh all the fish on the wall. "Fish," I'd say pointing to a huge bass mounted with mouth open and tail turned outward. "Big fish. Little fish. Stripe fish. Long fish. This fish has wings!" I'd say pointing to the dozens of fish along the walls. Then, he pointed in the general direction of a perch and said, "shhh".
"That's right. Fish!"
"shhh. shhh."
"Now say ffff-iiii-shhhh" I enunciated while making a goofy excited face. He giggled and kept making a 'shhh' sound. That was close enough for me.

Yesterday was rough for Josh. We started the day with a nasty boo-boo. I was braiding my hair back getting ready to get out for the day. Meanwhile Josh is playing in the our bedroom closet. Usually he pulls shoes off the shelf, plays with my mini easel, and looks around at all the junk I should either get rid of or- I should just get rid of it. Anyway, Josh was talking to himself and then I hear a cry. I'm thinking he's frustrated or bumped into something. He walks over to me in his usual tip-toe way, arms up and face completely red. He's lets out a wrenching cry. I knew he was hurt or really upset but didn't see why. I looked at his face, his head, his legs- nothing looks out of place. Maybe his teeth? I pick him up and he's bucking and clenching onto me at the same time. He does this when he's really mad or upset sometimes so I didn't think much of it. I walked him over to his room to get him dressed hoping to take his mind off of whatever set him off. I get his shirt half-way on then set him down to finish. Oh man- he screamed! I laid him down to put on his pants, now a little flustered not knowing why he's so cranky. Then I see needle stuck in his foot! A sewing needle had some how got stuck on the bottom of his foot and was dug in more than an inch! I was a little freaked seeing it. I slowly pulled it out and carried him to the bathroom to clean it. Almost immediately he stopped screaming and crying. It was like he was thinking, 'Ah, finally you know what my problem is!' I cleaned off the blood and put peroxide on the hole and added a band-aid. His foot was sore (duh) so I carried him around to the kitchen for a drink of milk. Then I held him for a bit on the couch listening to music while I took it all in and thought about what to do next. I stroked his hair and kissed his head, and within minutes he fell asleep on my lap. I guess the stress of not being able to communicate added to the pain of a freakin' needle lodged in his foot drained all the energy he had. If he hadn't walked on his tip-toes, or if I had insisted there was nothing wrong and made him stand up, it might have gone all the way in. He's fully recovered now. By later that afternoon he was walking and running like nothing ever happened. I kept him off his feet as long as I could by driving to errands, going for a stroll, and holding him as much as possible. Later that afternoon, leaving a friend's house he tripped on a crack in the sidewalk scraping his knees. They got a little bloody and scuffed, again he's recovered, but that's at least a normal rite of passage for a toddler.

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