Visit to Urgent Care

Poor Blossom. We were all happily walking to school today when she tripped and fell down. Unfortunately she had her hands in her pockets (no gloves on and her mom suggested it to keep her warm) so her forehead took the brunt of the fall. There are no sidewalks in our neighborhood so she smacked right into the gravelly street. Of course, her head was pouring blood. Luckily, we were in front of a friend's house, so we ran inside and washed the blood off to have a look. She had a ton of little scratches, a huge bruise starting, and two gashes. I suspected one of the cuts would be okay, but the other was wide open and I was thinking stitches. Blossom heard me ask the friend what she thought and then started crying, "I don't want a stitch. I don't want a stitch." Well, she didn't get a stitch. She got three.
She was very brave at the doctor's office and only cried a little, first when she heard the word stitch again, and of course when they numbed it cause we all know that part hurts.
I was brave, too, considering Blossom is my firstborn, and I was also happily ignorant of any guilt, until we got home and Blossom said, innocently, this was your fault, right mom? 'Cause you told me to stick my hands in my pockets?" argh