The back story goes like this: the Brit has always been keen on getting some new kitchen knives. The ones we currently own are blunt and crap, so I thought since I fucked up with the gift scenario on our first wedding anniversary, I thought I'd - on behalf of Sebastian of course - make up for it on Father's Day.
I bought a bunch of really really sharp Jamie Oliver knives and a bamboo chopping board to go with it, purely for his kitchenic bliss.
You can probably see where this is going.
Third World Ant and her hubby are in London this week (yay!), and so the Brit decided to embark on some culinary grandeur for their arrival yesterday. A fancy Italian dish that I can't pronounce.
Well, he went and chopped the tip of his thumb off didn't he.
He chopped off the tip and it landed somewhere in the salad. Just as we had put Sebastian down to bed in his room, (which involves a lot of to and froing, crying, settling, etc etc).
The blood was gushing, the Brit was slumped on the floor feeling faint and sweating, while I was digging around for the first aid kit wondering if I should try to bundle him in the car and whisk him off to the emergency room. But wait, fuck! We have a baby, what do I do with the baby?
We sealed off the gaping hole in his finger with tape and plasters, while he kind of moaned on the floor, and then Sebastian kicked off. Started screaming blue murder in his room.
So for about half an hour, I was running to and from the kitchen where my husband was basically dying, and my baby who was basically screaming his head off.
Which boy to settle first, who to attend to longest? This must be what parenting and being the matriarch of the house must feel like. Put Rescue Remedy on the Brit's tongue, fed him water, dashed to Seb's room and put his dummy back in his mouth and patted his chest reassuringly. Dashed back to kitchen, mopped Brit's brow with an ice pack so that he didn't completely pass out. Mopped up the blood. Ran back to Seb's room and jiggled his cot and shoved dummy back in.
"I think I'm just going to lie down," gasps the Brit.
No no. Don't do that. Lying down means sleeping which means I wouldn't be able to drag him unconscious out of the house and into the car.
Seb is wailing in the background.
"Two secs. STAY UPRIGHT."
Eventually, the bleeding stopped and Seb fell asleep.
Then yesterday while our guests were here, a wine galss dropped off the table and punctured a full on gaping hole in the Brit's foot.
I'm serious. He is either trying to amputate himself or nature is trying to kill him off.
Blood everywhere, out came the first aid kit not 24 hours later, bandages, plasters, tape.
Mopping up of blood, wondering if we should get him to the emergency room for some stitches. Luckily this time Sebby was fast asleep.
Not letting my husband near knives, glasses or sharp objects for a few days. Not that he wants to chop anything again anyway.