First Band-aid

Last night, as I added the finishing touches to our beef stew, Isabella came upstairs and said, "it's an emergency!", Isaac was bleeding and needed a band-aid. I basically ignored my ever-dramatic first-born. I wasn't alarmed because Walter was in the basement with the kids, and Isaac wasn't crying, so, no crying is always a good sign. But I did eventually wander down to see what happened. He had the tiniest pin-prick on one of his fingers. I thought he wouldn't be able to handle a band-aid, because he's like that, and doesn't like certain things touching him, but he insisted, so I wrapped it carefully around his little finger, anticipating the moment he would realize the band-aid was a death trap. As it turns out, band-aids are not death traps, and he handled the whole thing beautifully.

Walter and I searched the floor for the prickly culprit and came up with nothing, then we looked at each other, both thinking the same thought, right in that moment, this is the first time he's bled that wasn't caused by a surgeon cutting into him. 

It has been a year since Isaac's last surgery, and I am looking forward to another year without any surgeries on the schedule.

This morning I removed the band-aid, and he promptly requested a new one (in his way, of course. Which is basically a lot of pointing and grunting.). I offer no shortage of band-aids in this house. When Isabella was Isaac's age, she used to have band-aids lining both legs. Strangers would ask her what happened, and if she was okay. She was fine, she entertained herself for an hour with those band-aids, so we were both happy. Then, after a week of wearing the same string of Hello Kitty band-aids, we pried them from her legs as she screamed, and found that she had a latex allergy. The result, red welts where band-aids once happily rested. Now we buy latex free band-aids.

Isaac ventured outside this morning with Isabella. He walked across the yard like Bambi, but it gave me hope that this summer will be better than last, and we just might be able to enjoy our yard again. I just hope our "hope" isn't going to get the best of us. Walter and I are excited to have a real garden this year--one that we actually have the energy to care for, and pick the vegetables before they rot--we are basing that excitement on the few times that Isaac has actually walked across the grass.

Either way, in three weeks, we will celebrate Isaac's third birthday, and last summer, we predicted that Isaac would maybe start walking when he turned three. Here he is, defying all expectations, and learning to run.