Just tonight, he came up to me and indicated that he needed a band aid on his wrist. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that he somehow got a bruise right at the base of his palm. I think he must have popped a tiny vessel or something like that. Regardless, he wasn't bleeding, but he insisted on a band aid. So, being the loving mother I am, I tenderly obliged. To most moms, there is nothing about this story that seems out of the ordinary. But in my world, milking it goes to a new level.
As Big E walked away, after I gently applied his band aid to his wrist, he was limping.
75 of 365: Poor baby. I may have to carry him to bed over this one.
Good Night All!
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