I knew it would happen one day: one of us was bound to drop him, bonk him against a door frame, pinch his toes in a zipper or otherwise demonstrate our inadequacy as parents. Yesterday, my worst nightmare came to pass: Grip has…an infected hangnail!
Lest anyone think I’m being an overreactive first-time parent, it really does look pretty sad. His thumb is red and swollen and there is even a little green pussy bit. Dad talked me down from rushing immediately to the emergency room when the clearly life-threatening (or at least _limb_-threatening) injury was discovered. Instead, his Grandma Lorette — a board certified physician — took a look at it and gave the opinion that he would probably just barely survive if we cleaned it well and kept some anti-bacterial cream on it.
So, our poor baby is now sporting a little mitten on his hand to keep him from ingesting the Neosporin (God only knows what havoc _that_ would wreak on his insides/mother’s nerves!) we’ve got slathered on under the world’s tiniest band-aid. We keep telling him it’s a catcher’s mitt. I don’t think he believes us.