Hell's Bells and Buckets of Blood
Last night was... a night.
Was snuggled up with Hubby after all the jobs were done, watching Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries (my new favourite Netflix show, highly recommended, awesome female-led cast, and YES a thirties murder mystery set in Australia is every bit as weird for us as it is for anyone international), when I decided to check that the incessantly crying child from next door was not, in fact, our child.
No, of course it's not one of ours, said Hubby. It's dogs howling down the street.
Hmmm, I said, and went out to check. No, turns out it's Mr Three screaming like he's dying. So, what's wrong, Mr Three? Omg. HUBBY!!! (pause) HUBBY, I REALLY NEED YOU RIGHT NOW!
Here is the photo I took to show A&E. Warning for gore. Yes, he is fine.
YES, he is fine. After about ten minutes of panicked attempts to get him to tell us if anything was hurting (he was extremely distressed) and determine the source, we worked out it was a nosebleed. It had slowed down by the time we found him and was mostly over by the time we'd put him through the bath and changed his clothes. We didn't end up making Mr Three's third trip to A&E this year.
Which was a good thing, because once we'd finished putting him back to bed and waving our arms at each other in shocked commiseration and watching the end of our murder mystery because the horror show in our house wasn't the best bedtime viewing, and I was doing a final check before bed... Eldest started throwing up all over the floor.
Fortunately no blood. What a night, eh? Comments welcome on the original post on Dreamwidth - there are
comments there.
Was snuggled up with Hubby after all the jobs were done, watching Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries (my new favourite Netflix show, highly recommended, awesome female-led cast, and YES a thirties murder mystery set in Australia is every bit as weird for us as it is for anyone international), when I decided to check that the incessantly crying child from next door was not, in fact, our child.
No, of course it's not one of ours, said Hubby. It's dogs howling down the street.
Hmmm, I said, and went out to check. No, turns out it's Mr Three screaming like he's dying. So, what's wrong, Mr Three? Omg. HUBBY!!! (pause) HUBBY, I REALLY NEED YOU RIGHT NOW!
Here is the photo I took to show A&E. Warning for gore. Yes, he is fine.
YES, he is fine. After about ten minutes of panicked attempts to get him to tell us if anything was hurting (he was extremely distressed) and determine the source, we worked out it was a nosebleed. It had slowed down by the time we found him and was mostly over by the time we'd put him through the bath and changed his clothes. We didn't end up making Mr Three's third trip to A&E this year.
Which was a good thing, because once we'd finished putting him back to bed and waving our arms at each other in shocked commiseration and watching the end of our murder mystery because the horror show in our house wasn't the best bedtime viewing, and I was doing a final check before bed... Eldest started throwing up all over the floor.
Fortunately no blood. What a night, eh? Comments welcome on the original post on Dreamwidth - there are
comments there.