One Little Monkey

Morning, friends!  Today Ms. L, my bestie, is writing a guest post about her little girl, Little Miss.  We hope you enjoy!

Recently, the Little Miss has been chanting the song "Three little monkeys jumping on the bed...".  I feel like I don't have to finish the rhyme because I am sure that it is now stuck in your head.  Hopefully for the rest of the day.  You're Welcome.

She has made her own versions of this little jingle.  Our monkeys jump on the couch, the chair, the dresser (which I am sure is no fun at all as dressers are not very bouncy), and whatever else the Miss thinks they should jump on.  All of this seemed pretty harmless, until last night.

You would think that this song would be teaching a lesson about the dangers of jumping on furniture.  Oh, but no!  This song really teaches how incredibly silly and fun it is to jump on furniture even though your parent has warned you not to! 

There I was, finally enjoying a few minutes of peace and quiet after a long and trying day.  I had/am still having quite the tangle with some Rapunzel hair (see what I did there? hehe) for a costume that has to be in use by tonight.  I had finally given up for the evening and had settled in to watch an episode of Harry's Law, which ended up being a rerun.  Bummer.  All of a sudden I hear crying. 

Okay, you know what I did.  Any mother with more than one child does this.  We run through our checklist of immediate questions.   What child is it?  Is it whining-I-didn't-get-my-way crying or I-am-injured crying?  How quickly do I need to react?  Oh, wait, isn't her Dad in there? 

Don't worry, I got up off the couch and went to check it out.  *stop judging me* 

So, my little monkey had decided to jump on the bed, and big surprise, fell off and bumped her head.  Goodness, it's like the song is prophetic.  She wasn't screaming, just crying, so I did the usual look over and didn't see anything.  I asked her where it hurt and she pointed to a general area on the back of her head.  I, of course, did the routine run my hand over the bump, and assure her it's no big deal.  I mean, she wasn't even crying any more. 

Then I pull my hand away and realize it's covered in blood.  Resume the crying at sight of blood.  Not me.  Her.   Luckily, no need for a trip to the doctor.  She had a tiny little cut on the back of her head, which we were able to stop bleeding rather quickly.  No concussion, no stitches.  Only the lesson learned that cute little jingles are almost always dangerous.

You have been warned.  Beware.

Ms. L

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