It started off normal enough. Bo dropped Oliver off at Lindsay's (and I got to see him in the morning, Woot!) and I headed off to work. I had a fairly busy day that was slightly interrupted by a horrific headache, but what can you do. Bo and I did spend a fun couple of hours texting while he was between meetings in London. It helps the time go by :)
I headed home in a rush because I had Oliver all to myself all night, and I miss that time we used to have during the day (so selfish, I know). I picked him up and Lindsay said that he had been fantastic the entire time, sleeping for over two hours with the other kids and just being his normal self (she finally got to see).
This is when everything starts going horribly wrong.
Lindsay grabbed the bottle out of the fridge and gave it to me, so I let Oliver finish it off in the car. Once we were home I got the sprinklers going and then filled up Oliver's water table so that he could play for a while.
We spent about a half hour playing outside, then it was time for dinner. I made Oliver a grilled cheese and filled up another bottle for him to drink while I cooked. He ate three quarters of his sandwich, then I noticed that where he had drank from his bottle, there were little flakes. So I took a sip, and is was sour. Like, really sour. I'd been giving Oliver spoiled milk all day, and the little bugger didn't complain AT ALL.
I am, the worst, mom.
So, off we ran to Sobeys for fresh milk, where I ran into Lindsay. At least I was able to explain it to her, and it turns out that she had the same problem with her milk (different brand, weird), and that was why she was there two.
That should be the worst of it, right. Right? Wrong.
Once back home I made my 5 minute pineapple pie for the weekend, then Oliver and I headed out for a walk to the park. Here's where I made my mistake. I told Oliver that he could walk to the park instead of going in his stroller. You know, because he knows the difference. Right out the door we saw our neighbour and talked to them for a little while, then we continued on to the park. We were doing great, Oliver was walking like a champ and life we good. We made it all the way around the corner and were standing on the sidewalk directly across the street from the park. I don't even know what happened. Oliver twisted some home, and while still holding onto my hand did a total face plant onto the sidewalk/driveway we were on. He ended up with a few scrapes down the side of his head and cheek, and a big cut on his forehead.
Oliver screamed bloody murder for about 5 minutes, but between each scream he just pointed at the park. He had seen the swings, and that's what he wanted. I was so torn. I didn't know what the right "Mom" thing was to do. Do I bring him to the park so he can have a bit of fun and forget about his cut. Do I bring him straight home and make sure the cut is disinfected? I choose to stay at the park. I'm still not sure if that was the best decision, but it made Oliver smile and laugh, and that made my heart hurt a little less.
I pushed him on the swings for five or ten minutes, then took him down the slide half a dozen times. After that though I started to worry about his head, so I picked him up to carry him home. Oliver was REALLY unhappy with this decision. He screamed for half of the walk, pointing back to the park and doing everything possible to get out of my arms. I felt like a monster, but I wanted to make sure the dirt was out before it started to close up. Back home, I took him straight up to the bath, then slipped him into his pjs and we headed to the couch. Oliver was asleep within twenty minutes, and I headed downstairs to order pizza for Bo and I, he was just about home, just shy of 9pm.
We ate and then headed to bed, all of us exhausted for a variety of reasons.
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