So I was thinking -- randomly, apropos of NOTHING RESEMBLING REAL LIFE, I SWEAR -- that all those electrical and fire-safety videos and campaigns they make you sit through in elementary school aren't actually because they're worried about children and bathtubs and hairdryers and random floor puddles, but it's because they know that one day, far in the future, some sleep-deprived parent will watch her child's waffle get jammed in the toaster and absentmindedly reach for the nearest fork, and suddenly the image of a dancing cartoon lightening bolt will pop into her head, and she will put the metal object down and make some coffee instead.
HOWEVER, IN EVENT OF AN ELECTROCUTION, I'M THE ONE I WANT TO HANDLE THE SITUATION
On Saturday we went to a vineyard in Virginia -- yes, the one with the hill -- with some friends. It was waaay more subdued than last time, since we had Noah and two little pursedogs with us, and one of those friends -- this one right here, actually -- is knocked up.
And oh man, the assvice flowed like WINE, y'all, as I would not stop talking ever about babies and toddlers and this is what you do when this happens, and nobody tells you about the period that never ends and oh my god! Don't let your hair get in the baby's diaper when all your hair falls out, and oh yeah. All your hair falls out.
Then we had one of those awesome moments where all four adults -- capable, sober, college-educated adults -- were temporarily distracted by something during the exact second when Noah fell off his chair and hit the pavement face first. There was a collective gasp from EVERYBODY IN THE ZIP CODE as I picked Noah up and dashed...I don't know, far enough away so people couldn't throw food at me, where I tried to comfort him.
There was a little blood in his mouth -- obviously not enough to be coming from a lost tooth or anything, and he had no cuts or bruises. His wailing was strictly Pissed Off, You Negligent Monster (as opposed to I Am In Serious Need Of Medical Attention, Please Make Sure All My Aballs Go To A Good Home).
Jason, meanwhile, was losing his shit, just like he always loses his shit whenever Noah falls. The sight of blood in Noah's mouth clearly meant something terrible had happened, like fourteen lost teeth and brain matter leaking from his gums and he was scolding me for picking Noah off the ground in the first place without first determining whether his neck was broken and then he tried to yank Noah from my arms so he could create a full-body cast out of the picnic blanket, and that's when I wondered what the hell kind of first aid video they showed HIM in elementary school, because seriously, I remembered the rapping band-aid and he was telling me that Noah was just fine, yo.
Noah, his teeth and his beloved turkey baster are all okay, obviously.
We bought Jason his own bottle of wine and then he was okay too.
(Gratuitous photo overkill, yes, but what are you gonna do about it?)