This is why you have kids. It’s a sentence that is used in meme’s, jokes, and when you run out of toilet paper in the bathroom. This weekend, I discovered yet another reason why it’s super helpful to have kids.
Slight back story.
The medicine I’m on for severe anxiety gives me ridiculously vivid dreams. I don’t normally remember anything from the dream realm, except with this medication. I’ll wake up and be able to tell you every detail from three or four insanely wild dreams. It’s weird, and somewhat entertaining. I could probably start a dream journal, but then y’all would think I was crazier than I am. Alas, I digress.
So, I took my medicine and fell asleep. I awoke to the sound of glass shattering in the kitchen. One of our Hell cats had knocked a novelty wine glass off the top of the refrigerator, and onto the kitchen floor. I got up, threw away the pieces of the glass, which looked like it was only the stem that had broken off, and threw them away. I woke up thinking all of this was a dream.
Fast forward to that evening. I was walking into the kitchen barefoot to fix Stella’s dinner, when I suddenly realized that was not a dream at all. I stepped on a huge chunk of glass, and stupidly and instinctively tried to wipe my foot across my other ankle, leaving my kitchen floor looking like a crime scene. I grabbed paper towels on my way to the floor, and pulled the enormous shard of glass out of my foot, cutting my finger in the process.
Now my foot was bleeding profusely, my ankle had a trail of cuts across it that were actively bleeding, and my finger was wanting in on the competition. I was trying to simultaneously clean up the blood, and stop myself from bleeding. The paper towels were useless in doing anything to help my mangled foot that was defiantly refusing to stop bleeding. I was in a bit of pickle, and quickly understanding the value of Life Alert!
I called out for Stella to bring me the band-aides from her bathroom. I certainly couldn’t walk anywhere across our beige carpet with the bottom of my foot bleeding, but I non-gracefully slid myself to the edge of the kitchen so she wouldn’t have to risk stepping on anything herself. She heroically brought me the box of band-aides, and inquired about me being in the floor surrounded by blood. I explained that I stepped on some glass and just needed to fix my boo-boo.
She hurled the box at me, and asked for an ETA on her dinner.
Thanks kid, I’m fine.