Taking the bullet

Taking the bullet

As we were getting ready to say bedtime prayers with Isabella tonight, I stepped on something sharp on the floor of her bedroom.

Now, I like to walk around barefoot (“I hates dem shoos”) and we have nice smooth hardwood floors. So you can tell me it’s my own dang-fool fault.

After limping a bit and taking a quick glance, we decided to finish the prayers and put the baby to bed before dealing with the whale-spear in my foot since praying is done on the knees, not on the feet.

When we went to look at it—first on my own and then with Melanie’s help—it was hard to see. There was just a tiny spot of blood and that’s it. But it was certainly there! I could feel it. Yet no amount of fiddling with the tweezers could coax it out. It was just too small.

We figure it was a tiny shard from the glass Melanie broke earlier today. (Water on her laptop computer; heart in throat; everything okay in the end.)

I’m just glad I was the one who stepped on it and not Isabella. She would have howled and screamed and there’s no way we would have ever figured out what was wrong.

I’ll gladly take the bullet to spare her. Now I just need to wait for the thing to come out on its own or to work its way in like a shard from a Nazgul knife wending its way to my heart. Anyone know where you can get a bit of kingsfoil herb?