No other guy

So much for my margarita buzz, Landon came in second in the ultimate toddler fighting challenge cage match that we put him in, and all I got was a bunch of blood to clean up.

Actually I think he has started his journey in life as a true boy. The one all boys go through where they do stupid stuff to impress girls.

We went out to dinner last night to a local Mexican restaurant that has a playground and seating outside, it's one of the best places to go in the area with a toddler for a decent dinner and also not have to listen to the whining and crying.

Landon was a little rambunctious yesterday, but not terribly so. We always let him play on the playground pretty much unsupervised, he can't get out without passing us, and he's never really been a daredevil. We do a visual check on him every couple minutes or so, to make sure he's still there and still ok, but otherwise, we kind of feel like he needs his space and he's entirely comfortable doing everything they have on the playground.

I had just finished eating and was doing a spot check on him, when I realized, all I saw was his shoe. His horizontal shoe. I was not facing the playground, so I asked Clint if he fell. Clint saw a white shirt standing and said no, he's right there. I said, no I think he fell. I got up to go investigate. Fully expecting to find out that he tripped and was just overreacting to the amount of mulch he was covered in.

When I got to him, about a foot to the side of the ladder of the playground equipment, the white shirt Clinton had seen was that of a little girl asking "where is your mommy?" I still didn't know what I was in for until he looked up at me. His face and mouth was covered in blood.

He was already getting up himself, so I knew he was mostly ok. I scooped him him and carried him through the restaurant to the bathroom. I faced him slightly away from me, partly to keep the blood off my shirt, but it served in my favor when the guy sitting at the table closest to the bathroom saw us coming and jumped up to open the door for me. Not to mention the deer in the headlight looks I got from everyone else.

I don't really know how long I was in the bathroom with him, I know that the guy who opened the door's wife came in to to what she could to help. We cleaned him off as best we could, we got his nose to stop bleeding and the blood in his mouth went away (not sure where it came from in the first place, we thought he might have bit his lip or tongue at first, but maybe he just sucked some blood in when he was crying.)

She went at one point to get him some ice, and at that point Clint had already paid the check and was standing outside the bathroom with my purse - I guess ready to drive to the hospital if needed. And she told him that everything was ok and that it looked at lot worse than it actually was. By the time we had come out, Clinton had made friends with the guy who opened the door.

Landon was actually a lot more upset by the fact that I wasn't willing to let him go back out and play on the playground some more in his bloody shirt.

We still don't really know what happened. He says he fell off the ladder. He says he was doing tricks to impress the girls on the playground. He says he hit is face on the ground, he says he hit his leg on the ladder, he says he was doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing. He says his head hurts, and when you ask where, he says it hurts on the playground. Which is NOT helpful information. As I type this, about 30 minutes after the fact, Clinton is still a nervous wreck and Landon is singing and telling stories to his bath toys. His nose is crusty bloody still, and he's going to have a small bruise on his forehead. He's going to be fine.